


■.r. 






WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS; 

OR, 

LOVE OF NO POLITICS. 

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS. 



To show the very age and body of the time — ^his form and pressure, 

Shakspewnti. 



WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS; 



OR 



LOVE OF NO POLITICS. 



A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS. 



To show the very age and body of the time — his form and pressure. 

Shakspeare. 



RICHMOND: 

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY T. W. WHITE, 

1839. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by 

Thomas W. White, 

in the Clerk's Office of the United States Court, E. Virginia District. 



.^ ^'■' 



'# 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 



WoRTHiNGTON, a wealthy country gentleman. 
RouNDTREE, a Tavcm Keeper, Militia Major, &c. 
General Fairweather, a late member of Congress, 

and candidate for re-election. 
Henry Fairaveather, his son. 
Supine, a school-master. 
Chipps, 
Rowdie, 
Slang, 
BangalL; J 
CatOj black servant of General Fairweather. 

Mrs. Roundtree. 

Catharine, her daughter. 

Clara Worthington. 

Jenny, a negress. 



)>■ Neighbors of Roundtree. 



Scene in Virginia. Time — parts of two days. 



PREFACE 



The writer of this comedy has endeavored to show, 
that our own country furnishes ample materials for the 
drama, without perpetually resorting to foreign nations 
for characters, customs and sentiments, which have fre- 
quently little or no resemblance among ourselves, and 
in their public exhibition are often highly pernicious. 
He has also attempted to demonstrate, that dramatic in- 
terest may be sustained by the delineation of simple, na- 
tural, every day circumstances, without the aid of wild 
and extravagant incidents, so often relied on for effect in 
tlie modern drama ; and he has been particularly anxious 
to prove, that profane and obscene language are by no 
means necessary to give interest and piquancy to this 
form of composition. Whether these objects have been 
even partiall}^ accomplished, is not for the author to deter- 
mine. His aim has been rather to indicate what miffht 
be successfully done by others, more skilled than himself, 
in dramatic writing. Besides the mere gratification of 
employing a few leisure hours, he acknowledges one mo- 
tive which prompted him to the task, and that is to 



VI PREFACE. 

hold up to ridicule the despicable arts of demagoguism, 
if the expression may be pardoned, which are now prac- 
tised to such a frightful extent in our country, and 
which, if not rebuked in every legitimate mode, will 
most assuredly endanger our free institutions. If the 
public should happen to be amused by the trifle which 
is now presented to them, and the printer is remunerated 
for his labor and materials, the author will be abun- 
dantly compensated. 



WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. 



ACT I. 

AN APARTMENT IN A COUNTRY TAVERN. 

SCENE I. 

Enter J\Ir. and J\Irs. Roundtree. 

Mrs. Roundtree. You're an obstinate, contrary man, Mr. 
Roundtree, — that you are. Our poor dear Kate has onl}^ been 
at home three days from school, and there's nothing but constant 
grumbling about the trifling expense of her edication. It is 
barbarous treatment in you — and so it is. 

Major Roundtree. Trifling expense, did you say? — 
Why a whole year's clear profit of the Hickor3'^-Tree Tavern, 
would hardly pay the huzzy's bills. And then what's the good 
of it all ? — She went away a snug tidy country girl, ready to put 
her hand to any and every thing, — could either make a pudding 
or mend a stocking, — and now she's come back a town flirt, 
with her head cram'd full of aristocratic notions, about botany, 
natural philosophy, and all that. I'm sorry I did'nt keep her 
at house work, instead of sending her away to a Whig town 
to be corrupted. 



8 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 1. 

Mrs. RouNDTREE. Stuff! stuff! — I tell you, Kate was quite 
an awkward thing when she left home, and hadn't a particle 
of laming- except what she got from Mr. Supine. And what 
is she now but quite an accomplish'd young lady. Does'nt 
she talk French, — play on the piany, — dance like a top, — 
draw and paint pretty landscapes, and understand all about 
the natur' of flowers 1 What more would you want 1 I'm 
astonished at your ignorance, Mr. Roundtree. 

Major R. Ignorance indeed ! — You forget that I'm a 
county court magistrate, and have read the greater part of the 
Virginia Justice; a Major of Militia, and have studied consi- 
derable of military tactics ; keeper of the Hickory-Tree Ordi- 
dinary, and know how to cast up accounts ; and last, thoiigh 
not least, Post Master under the Federal Government, and a 
leader of the democracy, — which last responsibility forces me 
to take at least three newspapers in order to keep my ideas 
continually bright and perpendicular on politics. 

Mrs. R. Aye, politics, — forever politics ! — for my part I 
wish there was no such thing in creation ; and as to newspa- 
pers, I should never care to see another come into the house ; 
they're nothing but litter and lies. If you'd only send off 
these lazy louts of the neighborhood who come here to listen 
to the newspapers and swill your liquor at free cost, we should 
hear less of poor Kate's bills for edicalion. 

Mr. R. Why, Dolly, you talk as if you had lived a cen- 
tury before the flood. Don't you know that newspapers are 
the very sunshine of democracy, — the people's spy glasses, by 
which they find out those muski-at politicians who are conti- 
nually boring under the constitution ? 



Scene 1.) whigs and democrats. "9 

Mrs. R. No, I don't know any thing about it ; and what's 
more I don't want to know. I'll tell you what though, Mr. 
Roundtree, you must let our dear Kate alone, — for if you 
don't, I'll raise this house about your head, depend upon it. 
She's the only chick and child we have, and she shall be a 
lady — I'm determined she shall. 

Mr. R. Odds bother it ! my dear, — do you talk as loud 
and strong as all that to a Major of Militia and an honorable 
Justice of the Peace ? 

Mrs. R. Yes, I do — and what is more. I would say so to 
Andrew Jackson himself, if he was present in this room. I 
am not to be frightened by your militia Majors, and j^our gen- 
tleman justices of the peace. I know too much of them. 

Mr. R. Come, — come, Dolly, — moderate your dander a 
little. Can't a man complain of having his purse lightened by 
dancing masters and French teachers, without raising such a 
clatter? I can tell you one thing, — if you teach Kate to 
scold, along with her other accomplishments, her husband, if 
she ever gets one, will wish her 

Mrs. R. Hush 1 hush ! none of your barbarous speeches. 
No hiasband but a brute could ever wish harm to the poor 
child. You're are an unnatural father, Mr. Roundtree, to 
talk so. 

Supine. (Entering.) Good morrow, Major Roundtree. 
Mrs. Roundtree I am your very obedient servant. A little 
matrimonial breeze, I perceive, springing up this morning, — 
infelicitas matrimonii! {Takes snuff.) 

Mr. Round. A breeze do you call it Mr. Supine I—Odds 



10 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 1. 

bother it ! if you had not stepped in at the moment, it might 
have blown into a hurricane. 

Mrs. R. It's all his fault, Mr. Supine. Mr. Roundtree, 
you know, is very well to do in the world, and has scrap'd to- 
gether a smart little property, as one might say, and yet he 
begrudges a few worthless dollars to make our Kate a fine 
lady. Don't you think it quite provoking, Mr. Supine? I 
know you do. 

Supine. Ah ! my dear madam, you speak of my old pu- 
pil Miss Catharine ! I had heard only yesterday of her safe 
and happy return to the domestic roof, — and accordingly have 
put my locomotive faculties into exercise this morning, to pay 
her my respectful and affectionate homage. 

Mrs. R. Mr. Supine you will be delighted to see her ; I 
am sure you will. You've no idea how Kate is changed. 

Mr. R. Indeed Mr. Supine you have no idea how Kate is 
changed ! 

Sup. Happy parents to have such a daughter ; -f dices 

parentes! — It was I who first taught her infant mind to ex- 
pand, — her young ideas how to shoot. It was I who first im- 
parted to her the divine mysteries of the parts of speech, the 
various uses and attributes of the noun, pronoun, adjective, 
verb, adverb, participle, preposition, interjection and conjunc- 
tion. I, it was, who first held the lamp of knowledge and ex- 
perience to her path, and I doubt not that she has fully justi- 
fied my early prognostications. Excelleniissima puella ! 

Mr. R. {aside.) He's taught her the parts of speech to 
some purpose — for the huzzy's almost as glib on the tongue 
as her mother. 



Scene 2.) whigs and democrats. 11 

Mrs. R. You shall see her Mr. Supine — you shall see her 
this moment. She'll be quite charm'd to meet with her old 
master. Here, Jenny — Jenny. — (calls.) You can't think 
how the child has improved, Mr. Supine. {Jenny enters.) 
Go tell your Miss Catharine that Mr. Supine, her old master, 
has called to see her. [Exit Jenny.) — Mr. Supine, Kate has 
got by heart all the nat'ral sciences ; she paints in water 
colors, and makes a rose look for all the world just like a rose. 
And, besides, she dances so charmingly — I wish you could 
see her dance. There's not a girl in all the country round 
about here, that can hold a candle to her, — not even Miss 
Clara Worthington, — and Miss Clara j'ou know is one of our 
standards, 

Mr. Round. Standard indeed ! Her father is one of the 
staunchest federal whigs in the whole county, — and I want 
none of my flesh and blood to copy after such folks. 

Enter Jenny. 

Jenny. Miss Catharine say, mam, she be glad if the gem- 
man come into her sitting room. {Exit.) 

Mr. Round. Sitting room indeed ! — Another new-fangled 
town notion ; as if all the rooms in the house were not made 
for sitting in. 

Mrs. R. Hold your tongue, Mr. Roundtree ! — Would you 
have our Kate to be made a gazing stock for every idle cus- 
tomer who comes to the house ? Besides, how could she stow 
away her nice little trumpery, — her port-folio, — her sweet 
scented bottles, — her drawings, — her red morocco work-box 
and gilt annuals, — unless she had a snug room of her own. 



12 WIIIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 1. 

Come along, Mr. Supine ! — I'll show you the way to Kate's 
parlor. 

Sup. I follow you, madam. {Exeunt Sup. and Mrs. R.) 

ROUNDTREE SoLUS. 

Was there ever the like to this ? Why I'm of no more use 
in my own house, than a fifth wheel would be to a weigon. 
If I'm to be hen-pecked at this rate, I shall have to resign ray 
commission as a field officer ; for if I dont, the rank and file 
will laugh at me on parade. Odds bother it ! — it will never 
answer for a leader of the democracy to be led himself by a 
termagant. I must spunk up a little, and teach Mrs. Round- 
tree that it's rather a dangerous experiment to be trying on the 
breeches of a militia major. [^ horn hloivs loithout^ Ha ! 
that's the post-boy just arrived wiih the papers, and I must go 
and assort the mail. Our election for Congress-man comes on to- 
morrow, and I want to see if my friend, General Fairweaiher, 
stands on sure ground. These whigs are mighty slippery fel- 
ows, and require sharp watching. {Exit.) 



SCENE II. 

{Changes to a parlor — Catharine Roundtree in fashionable coS" 
tume seated at a table sketching in her port-folio — the table co- 
vered xoith books, cologne bottles, work box, <5-c, i^c. — Jenny 
in attendance. 

Catharine. Jenny, do you think Clara Worthington 
knows that I have returned home ? 

Jenny. Yes, Miss ; I'ii be bound she do. 



'Scene 2.) whigs and democrats. 13 

Catharine. Has she called lately, in her carriage, to in- 
quire after me 1 

Jenny. Oh yes. Miss ; she call very often indeed. Miss 
Clara's a mighty nice young lady. Black and white, gentle 
and simple, all like her. 

Cath. How did Mr. Supine hear of my arrival ? 

Jenny. La, Miss Cath'rine, I reckon the whole neigh- 
borhood has hearn of it by this time. How could such a 
thing be kept secret 1 I'll be bound if you had as much land 
and servants as Miss Clara, you'd take the shine off her, 

Cath. Why do you think so ? 

Jenny. Becase I thinks you are more beautifuUer than 
she, — and I reckon you've got a heap of knowledge since 3^ou 
went to town. 

Cath. Ah ! here comes Mr. Supine and my mother — you 
may go until I call for you. — {Exit Jenny.) 

Enter Supine and Mrs. Roundtree. 

Mrs. Round. There she is, Mr. Supine. Kate, my dear, 
Mr. Supine has called to-day expressly to see you. 

Sup. I have great pleasure in paying my respects to my 
former pupil. Only two years have elapsed since she left us, 
a blooming little rustic of fifteen — and now, like a full blown 
rose, she has expanded into the ripe dimensions of lovely wo- 
manhood. — [Approaches Catharine, and upon her rising, kisses her 
hand.l 

Cath. Oh, Mr. Supine ! — really you are quite complimeu' 
tary. You think then that the naughty little school girl who 
2 



14 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 1> 

once trembled at the sight of your ferule, has become quite a 
passable young lady ? 

Sup. Or, as some happy swain would express it, alto- 
gether irresistible. Ah, Mrs. Roundtree ! if so fair a vision as 
this, had only crossed my path some twenty years since, I 
should have been tempted to desert the tuifruitful but inde- 
pendent condition of a bachelor. Renuniiavissem ccelibatum. 

Cath. That is to say, Mr. Supine, if the vision had been 
satisfied with your addresses. But, pray sir, remember that 
the school-masters rod is not the arrow of Cupid. 

Mrs. R. (Aside.) How prettily she talks ! 

Supine. Oh no ! not the arrow of Cupid strictly — but, my 
dear Miss Catharine, you must understand, that when the 
schoolmaster's rod was laid aside, I felt myself well qualified, 
that is twenty years since, to exchange glances with all the 
pretty girls of the neighborhood ; and although I think it pro- 
bable I may have done some execution upon their innocent 
hearts, yet some how or other I always contrived to keep safe 
and sound myself, — salvus et validus. {Snuffs.) 

Cath. But you think if you had only seen Miss Round- 
tree then, as you see her now, you would certainly have fallen 
a victim. Indeed, Mr. Supine, I almost wish you were twenty 
years younger, — for after all there must be some pleasure in 
having a beau. Is'nt there, mother? 

Mrs. Round. Why, my dear, its not to be denied that 
courtship has its sweets with young persons, — but then when 
you come to take on yourself the cares of matrimony, you 
will find that all is not gold that glitters, my child, — that you 
will. 



Scene 2.) whigs and democrats. 15 

Cath. I am sure, madam, jou have always had your own 
way — and what more could any reasonable woman desire ? — I 
think I should be very happy if my — my husband that is to 
be — but who perhaps may never be, — besides being all in 
mind and person I could wish, would always humor my little 
whims, — obey my commands, — which of course should be 
very gentle, — and would think and act just as I thought and 
acted myself. Would'nt that be charming, Mr. Supine? 

Sup. Very charming indeed, Miss Catharine. There is 
only one drawback to it, and that is, that it is altogether im- 
possible. It is not in the nature of things — natura rerum. 

Cath. That is always the way with you old folks ! — 
When youthful fancy sketches some bright and blissful dream 
for the future, you come with your wise maxims and your cold 
experience to whisper their chilling breath upon the enchant- 
ment. l^Walks aside as if musing.'] 

Mrs. Round. {Aside to Supine.) Does'nt she talk very 
sweetly, Mr. Supine? has'nt she made rapid improvement? 

Sup. Oh, very rapid im.provement indeed, madam — so ra- 
pid, that peradventure she may happen to run away one of 
these days without your knowing a word of it. 

Mrs. Round, Runaway ! 

Sup. Yes, madam. — runaway, to the end of all educa- 
tion, — the end of all novels and romances, and of most 
poems, — the end of all our early labors and toils, (except with 
such as have philosophy enough to resist,) the end of all ima- 
ginary sorrows, — and too often the beginning of all real 
ones. I mean runaway to matrimony, madam. 

Cath. Pray, mother, what is it Mr. Supine is saying 



16 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 1. 

about matrimony ? With old bachelors it is not generally a 
favorite theme. 

Mrs. Round. Why he only means, my dear, that edica- 
tion qualifies a young lady to get married at a suitable time. 
I hope you would never think of such a thing unless it was 
entirely proper. 

Cath. Oh never, madam, — never, — unless it was en- 
tirely proper, I assure you. 

Mrs. Round. I am sure you would'nt, child. Mr. Supine 
can't you ask some qu.estion3 about her laming? — would'nt 
you like to see how much she's improved since she went to 
the old school house ? 

Sup. By all means, madam. — I will examine Miss Catha- 
rine with the highest satisfaction. But here comes Major 
Roundtree, and some one with him. 

Mrs. Round. As I live it is Jemmy Chipps, dressed in 
his Sunday clothes, Kate, don't you remember Jemmy ? — 
The school boys used to plague him about being in love with 
you. 

Cath. Oh, I remember Jemmy very well. 

{Enter Chipps and Major Roundtree ; the latter loith newspapers 
in his hand.) 

Round. Kate, your old school fellow. Jemmy Chipps, 
has called to see you. Give him a welcom.e, girl; as for 
me, I'll sit down here quietly and read the news. {Seats him- 
self behind and reads.) 

Chipps — {boios.) Sarvant, ladies. Why surely this is not 
little Kate Roundtree, that used to be 1 



Scene 2.) WHiGS and democrats. IT 

Catii. Don't you remember your old school mate, Mr. 
Chipps ? 

Chipps. I'll be dog'd if I should ever have known you in 
creation. Is it possible this is httle Kate Roundtree, that I 
used to go to school with ? Don't you remember, Miss Kate, 
I used to tote your basket, and help you over the fence ; and 
sometimes almost break my neck hunting after wild flowers 
for you ? 

Cath. I remember it very well. I believe, Mr. Chipps, 3^ou 
left Mr. Supine's school two years at least before me. 

Chipps. Yes I did, and have been at hard work ever 
since — trying to make a living. Let's see, — its been about 
two years coming next month, that you left home for town; 
and many a day since that, has I thought on you, notwith- 
standing I was dubious whether you cared a pin for me. But 
you are not the same gal now, Miss Kate, that you was then. 
You used to wear a nice calico frock and clean white apron, 
and did'nt seem as if you were above common folks. Now, 
you are dressed in all sorts of finery and fashion ; and in- 
stead of calling me Jemmy, as you used to do, — which 
sounded so sweet, — you call me Mr. Chipps! — Ah, Miss 
Kate, I'm afeard you're about to turn lady. 

Cath. Jemmy, why should there be any thing so shock- 
ing in being a lady ? 

Chipps. Oh nothing at all, except that your father and I 
are true blue democrats. We are the people's men, and en- 
tirely agin those folks who set themselves above the rest of 
human natur'. I would nt have you to be a lady, Miss Kate,, 
hi the strictest sense of the word, for the worlds 
2* 



18 WHIGS AND DExMOCHATS. (Act L 

Cath. Well, Jemmy, I certainly did not intend to give 
you offence, and had I expected your visit, I should have re- 
ceived you in a neat calico frock and clean white apron. 

Chipps, {aside.) I'll be dog'd, if, with all her finery, she 
don't look mighty smart and sweet, any how. 

Sup. Jemmy, I believe that wlien under my preceptorship 
the maximum of your attainments was reading, writing, and 
arithmetic; in neither of which did you ever excel. Since 
then, you have either been tacked to the plough-tail, or have 
delved at the hoe; and! should, therefore, consider you a very 
incompetent judge of modes, manners, and customs. You are 
not exactly, sir, an arbiter elegantiarum. Do you understand %' 

Chipps. Understand ? Oh yes — ^just as well as I under- 
stand Indian, or any other outlandish gibberish. Now, Mr. 
Supine, if you will only poke a httle of your laming at Miss 
Kate, I will listen for all the world as if I understood every 
thing about it myself. {Aside.) I'll be dog'd if she aint a 
good match for him. 

Supine. Oh yes, yes — by all means. Mrs. Roundtree did 
me the honor to make the same request. Well, my dear Miss 
Catharine, how many languages, pray, were you taught at the 
female seminary ? 

Cath. Languages ! — why let me see. My mother tongue, 
Mr. Supine, you know, I acquired under your superin- 
tendence. Well, besides that, I have studied the French 
language and the language of flov/ers. 

Sup. The language of flowers ! — that I believe is alto- 
gether modern. I suppose we may call it the lingua fioriim. 

Caipps. I'll be doff'd if ever I have hearn of such a Ian- 



Scene 2.) whigs and democrats. 19 

guage as that before. The beasts and birds, I know, carries 
on a sort of conversation ; but as to a rose and lily talking to 
one another, I should as soon believe that my grandmother 
did'nt belong to the female sect. 

Mrs. Round. Jemmy, you hav'nt patience. Why don't 
you let Kate explain ? 

Cath. The language of flowers is a beautiful mode of 
communication, and is founded upon some real or fancied re- 
semblance between the flowers themselves and the passions or 
feelings they are used to represent. For instance — if you, 
Mr. Supine, should present me with a red tulip, I should re- 
gard it as a declaration of love, and would return you a white 
rose-bud with an ice plant: these would signifj' that the object 
of your admiration was much too young to love an old beau; 
and thus, you see, unpleasant explanations would be saved, as 
well as pen, ink and paper. 

Chipps, {aside.) I'll be dog'd if she has'nt treed the old 
fellow up a gum. 

Sup. Very fine — very fine, Miss Catharine — argnmentum 
ad hominem. 

Cath. And as to you, Mr. Chipps, if you were to send 
me the tulip, I should probably give in return a piece of pitch 
pine, by which you would understand that time and philoso- 
phy alone could cure a passion so utterly hopeless. 

Chipps. But I'll be dog'd, Miss Kate, if you had'nt as 
well wait until you are ax'd. I confess that I felt a very con- 
siderable hankering after you, about the time that I finished my 
schooling ; but I don't think, some how or other, that at pre- 
sent you would suit me. 



20 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 1. 

Cath. That is very probable, Jemmy. I do not think I 
should suit you at all. But come, let me show you my 
Album. 

Chipps. Album ! What is that, Mr. Supine. ? 

Sup. Why in the lingua latina, album means white. 

Cath. It is a young lady's repository of precious thoughts 
and beautiful sentiments, either selected from good authors, or, 
if original, generally the productions of friends — or — lovers. 
Will you write in it, Jemmy 1' 

Chipps. Write! — not I indeed. Mr, Supine said when 
I was at school that I could never make any thing better than 
pot-hooks and hangers. 

Cath. Well, then, let me show you my herbarium. 

Chipps. Herbarium! — What is that, Mr. Supine? 

Sup, Let's see. In the lingua latina, Herbarium must 
mean a gatherer of herbs. 

Cath. It is used by students of botany to preserve flowers 
and plants in their living form and color. Here, for example, 
is a specimen of the Datura Stramonium — or thorn apple. 

Chipps, {peeping into the book.) I'll be dog'd if that is any 
thing but common jimson weed. Thorn apple indeed ! 

Cath. Mr. Chipps, you have never studied the delightful 
science of botany. The datura belongs to the class pentandria^ 
having five stamens, and the order monogijnia or one pistil.. 
See, here is the corolla ! 

Chipps. One pistol! — who ever heard the like of that? 
Just now the flowers were said to talk like men and women ;■ 
HOW it seems they carry pistols in their pockets. Miss Kat© 
you must have a power of laming. 



Scene 2.) whigs and democrats. 21 

Sup. Miss Catharine is a very apt scholar; — docilis dis- 
cipula. {Snuffs.) 

Mrs. Round, Oh, Mr. Supine, Kate has improved so 
much ! 

Sup. Indeed, madam, I feel in her presence as if I had 
only been looking at the gilt binding of nature's volume, 
"whilst she has been peeping into its divine interior. 

l^Roundlree, who during the preceding dialogue has been 
seated at the back part of the stage, attentively engaged 
loith the neivspapers, suddenly starts up and advances to 
the front.~\ 
Round. News ! — news ! — Dolly, here is good news ! 
Let's read the whole paragraph from the " Democratic Star," 
published in our county town. Here it is. {Reads.) "We 
" have the pleasure to state, that General Falrweather, our re- 
" presentative in the last Congress, is now on a visit to the de- 
"mocracy of the County. He has visited most of the pre- 
" cincts, and will go down to Roundtree's before the election. 
" He is firm in the good cause, and faithful in his allegiance 
" to the ruling powers. Notwithstanding the federal whig 
" aristocratic opposition, we count with certainty upon his re- 
" election." Dolly, m}' dear, we may look out for the General 
every moment. Take a peep at the pantry, and have the 
kitchen put in order for a little extra cooking. Jemmy, do 
you tell the neighbors, and especially our friends Slang, Bang- 
all, and Rowdie, to come over, and lets give our Congressman 
a real jollification. Mr. Supine, I fear that for some time past 
you have been rather back-sliding from the true democratic 



22 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 1. 

faith ; but come and take a horn nevertheless. I must go my- 
self and help to get things in readiness. {Exit.) 

Mrs. Round. Always the way. — Nothing but politics, — 
politics. I am sure I'm heartily sick of it. 

Cath. Mother you must treat the General very kindly, 
and by and by I will give you a good reason for it. 

Mrs. R. Well, my dear, I suppose that our Congressman 
ought to be civilly treated — and even with attention. (Exit.) 

Sup. a backslider from the true democratic faith, eh !— 
Errans in puhUcis rebus. {Sniifs.) Jemmy it is time for us to 
go. Miss Catharine, I am your very obedient humble servant. 
{Exit.) 

Chipps. Miss Kate, your very obedient humble servant. 
{Imitates Supine awkivardly — hoivs and exit.) 

Cath. {alone.) And so we may expect a visit from General 
Fairweather, the father of Henry ! Why am I thrown into 
such a flutter at the bare mention of the name ? Indeed I do 
not know. I am sure I would not whisper my thoughts to any 
one, and yet I will not deny that I should be quite as well 
pleased to see the young gentleman as the old one. Heigh ho ! 
what a strange world this is ! — Here's my good mother, who 
thinks me all perfection, whilst my dad is of opinion that he- is 
ruined in purse, and I utterly spoiled by my city education. 
Let me think ! — I suppose there would be no harm in trjnng 
to win the good graces of the honorable Mr. Fairweather. 
He and my father agree so well in politics, perchance they 
may agree hereafter in other things. He's a widower, I am 
informed, and on that account may be more easily won by a 
girl's attentions. I fervently hope, however, he may not fall 



Scene 2.) whigs and democrats, 23 

in love with me ; — that would never do. I would rather his 
affection should prove a little more paternal. 

J\Irs. Roundtree re-enters in haste. 

Mrs. Round. Kate, — Kate my dear, — here's Mr. Worth- 
tngton's carriage standing at the door, and a letter for you from 
Miss Clara. 1 thought Miss Clara would come or send over 
soon ; — she's a kind, dear-hearted creature, just like her mc 
ther was. 

Cath. [takes the letter and reads.) "My Dear Miss Cath- 
"arine, — I did not hear of your happy return home until this 
"morning, and should have hastened to welcome you, but 
"Papa expects a visit from General Fairweather, which 
" obliges me to remain at home. I have, therefore, sent the 
" carriage, with the earnest request that you will not permit it 
" to return empty. To-morrow is election day, at your house, 
" and I trust you will be willing to escape from the tumult, 
" even if you had no other inducement to visit your ever affec* 
" tionate friend, Clara Worthington." 

Dear Miss Clara, you remember, mother, was my school' 
mate at Mr. Supine's ; and although many of the scholars 
thought her proud, and called her one of the great folks, and 
by such like terms of reproach — to me she was ever gentle 
and kind. Well, what say you — must I go ? 

Mrs. Round. Go ! yes, by all means. I've no notion of 
your being near these noisy varlets who will come to the election 
to-morrow, and raise such a clatter as to frighten people out 
of their wits. No, my dear; go and see Miss Clara. She's 
the society for you to keep. She'll see at once that you're a 
lady, just like herself. 



24 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 1. 

Cath. I will take your advice ; and as to dad, if he 
should disapprove, I must leave the matter to be settled be-^^ 
tvi^een you and hiin in my absence. 

Mrs. Round. Never mind — never mind — leave that to 
me. I'll manage the militia major. Get ready directl}', and 
slip into the carriage whilst he is giving orders about the Gen* 
eral. {Exit,) 

Cath. {alone.) My mother, with all her other good quali- 
ties, has excellent nerves ; and I have sometimes thought, 
from my buoyant spirits and a certain degree of perseverance 
which belongs to me, that her daughter was somewhat similarly 
constituted. Latterly, however, I have felt something like timi- 
dity creeping over me; my spirits are occasionally depressed, and 
I find myself frequently sighing without precisely understand- 
ing the cause. Let me see, — General Fairweather will spend 
the night at Mr. Worlhington's, and T shall probably become 
well acquainted with him. May I not win so far his good 
opinion, that, if perchance I might happen hereafter to be intro- 
duced as a family connection, he would not blush to own me, 
I'll begone directly. [Exit.) 






Scene 1.) wiiiGS and democrats. 25 



ACT II 



SCENE I. 

OUTSIDE OF THE HICKORY TREE TAVERN. 

Enter General Fainoeather and Henry. 

Oen'l Fairweather. We have made a good ride, to- 
day, Henry, — and here we are, safe, at the old Hickory Tree, 
kept by my worthy personal and political friend. Major Round- 
tree. The Major was a host in himself at the last election. 
He is one of your out and out thorough-going fellows, — and 
when once fairly in motion is altogether irresistible. 

Henry. A valuable hand at electioneering, I have no 
doubt, sir. {Apart looking at the house.) This, then, is Catha- 
rine's dwelling ! 

Gen'l F, It is said that he has at least thirty or forty vo- 
ters in this precinct, completely at his disposal, — and, by the 
by, Henry, I believe from what I hear, I shall probably stand 
in need of them. Whiggery has made sad havoc of late in 
the district. 

Henry. Do 3'ou think, sir, it augurs well for the repub- 
lic, or speaks loudly in praise of self-government, that one 
man should govern forty so easily ? 

Gen'l F. That is preci ely the question which a young 
3 



26 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 2. 

book-worm, green in the knowledge of mankind, would be 
likely to ask. Don't you know, that these notions of human 
equality are mere empty speculations, and that we are obliged 
to take men, not as we would have them to be, but as we find 
them in reality ? 

Henry. But I thought you were one of those politicians, 
who profess unbounded confidence in the wisdom and virtue 
of our species ; and consider it as no less than moral treason to 
doubt that our free government will endure forever. 

Gen'l F. Like all young theorists, Henry, you have lived 
not quite long enough to know, that upon most subjects men 
carry about them two opinions — one for the public, and another 
for their own closets or private circles. I do not say all men, 
for there are some fool-hardy enough to come out wi'.h their 
real sentiments, and the consequence is, that they are gene- 
rally laid flat on their backs. A man who would pass along- 
the highway and call the first traveller a knave. — the second 
a fool, — and the third a thief, — would most likely be thrown 
into a ditch, or have his cranium decent]}^ fractured, although 
in every instance he might probably speak the truth. You 
must learn to chime in with men's humors, p ejudices, and de- 
lusions. When any advantage is to be gained, flatter them; 
and remember never to offend, unless you have the power to 
disarm or defy their resentment. 

Henry. Your opportunities, sir, have enabled you to under- 
stand these things, but I always thought, myself, that honesty 
was the best policy. 

Gen'l F. Oh yes, — honesty is an excellent thing, in its 
wa}', — and is doubtless very essential in aU private transactions. 



Scene 1.) WHIGS and DEMOCRATS. 27 

All men profess to hold it in great respect, especially those who 
have very liiile or none of it themselves. In public affairs, 
however, there is such a thing as being honest overmuch. 

Henry. If I were a statesman, sir, it appears to me I 
should aim at the public good, and make it my governing mo- 
tive. 

Gen'l F. Very true. A statesman should take care of 
the public, and for so doing the public should take care of him. 
In these degenerate days, a man cannot be expected to labor 
for nothing, and find himself in the bargain. True charity, 
my son, always begins at home; and, depend upon it, we ne- 
ver provide so well for society at large, as we do by first pro- 
viding pretty well for ourselves. But this is a sul^ject, I per- 
ceive, upon which you are yet to be informed, and which, 
therefore, cannot interest you much. I desire your attention 
to a different matter. 

Henry. Which you think will be more interesting. I arn 
all attention, sir. 

Gen'l F. Within a iriile of this place lives my old friend 
Worthington, of whom 3'ou have heard me speak. I pro- 
mised to reach his house to-night ; but on reflection it would 
be better to tarry with Rouridlree until after the election. 
Worthington is an inveterate Whig, and possibly some of the 
Democrac}' might take fire at our intimacy. I have, there- 
fore, concluded, so soon as you have made your toilet, to send 
you in my stead, with a note of apology. 

Henry. Well, sir, that is reasonable enough. 

Gen'l F. But I have another motive, which I hope you will 
consider well, — as I confess it induced me to send to town for 



28 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 2. 

you and to take you on this electioneering campaign. Worth- 
ington is a man of family and wealth, and has an only 
daughter, who I am told, is beautiful and accomplished. 

Henry. And you wish me, I presume, to fall in love with 
her ; — but love, you know, sir, is an involuntary passion. 

Gen'l F. Involimtary indeed ! — I wonder if you found 
that doctrine in Blackstone. Love, I suppose, is a species 
of involuntary homicide, — a sudden killing by accident! — 
Well, why may not accident and thirty thousand dollars bring 
you to the feet of Miss Worthinglon 1 Marry first, and love 
will come afterwards. 

Henry. I confess, sir, I regret to hear such sentiments 
from such a source. Suppose, for argument's sake, my af- 
fections were placed upon another — could you expect me to 
transfer them so suddenly 1 

Gen'l F. I will not suppose, for the sake of argument, 
what I hope is not true. I trust that hitherto you have been 
too diligent in your studies, to allow attendance on the court 
of Cupid. Now, indeed, as you have just obtained your law 
license, it might not be amiss to take out a matrimonial one 
also, with the approbation of the young lady I have named 
to you. 

Henry. But, sir, is it possible you could desire a family 
alliance with Mr. Worthington — an influential Whig — or, as 
you would be pleased to call him, a Federalist ? Have you not 
denounced that party, as every thing odious and detestable, — 
as bank-bought traitors, and enemies to republican govern- 
ment 1 

Gen'l F. Pshaw ! — Hav'nt I already told you, that every 



Scene 1.) whigs and democrats. 29 

man, — every politician, at least, — ha.s, upon most subjects, two 
opinions ? — I grant you, that Mr. A. B., for example, may be a 
scoundrel in politics, and yet a very worthy and excellent fel- 
low in private life. Worthinglon was my classmate at col- 
lege, — I know him well, — and he has less of the corrupt dross 
of humanity about him than any man I ever knew. As to his 
political heresies, h-e may be honest in entertaining them, — but 
it is necessary, nevertheless, to hold them up- to public haired, 
or else, how is it possible for our party to get along 1 

Henry. Your party, if you- please, sir. As for me, I 
will naver belong to any party whose creed would confound all 
distinction between public profligacy and' private virtue ; or 
whose principles would rebuke dishonesty among individuals- 
and yet tolerate and applaud it in governments. 

Gen'l F. Very sentimental, truly ! — Well, I would thank 
you to- say nothing about politics to- Miss Clara. Look at 
the girl herself, and decide, if a fine young lady, and thirty 
thousand dollars in the bargain, would'nt be quite comfortable. 

(Cato enters loith baggage.) 

Gen'l F. Calo, see that the baggage is secured, and in- 
form Major Roundtree of our arrival. 

Cato. Yes, sir. 

Gen'l F. And have Henry's horse saddled in an hour.. 

Cato. Yes, sir. {Goes into the house.) 

Gen'l F. You must see the girl this night, — and, having- 
seen her once, I doubt not you will be sufficiently anxious to- 
repeat the visit. 

Henry. I do not fear to encounter her, sir. Every young 

a* 



30 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 21- 

man must be prepared to meet the archery of the other sex,, 
whether it consists in mental and personal charms, or, M'hat is 
of no less consideration in the present age, a valuable stock of 
goods and chattels. 

Gen'l F. Spoken like a lad of spirit ! {Enter Roundiree 
from the house.) Ah, my dear Major, Tm rejoiced to see you. 

Maj. Round. My dear General, welcome to the Hickory 
Tree precinct. You have done well, I can tell you, to come 
among the democracy a little before the election. We want 
stirring up. These wicked Whigs have been undermining us 
by spreading false rumors. Who is this youngster ? 

Gen'l F. My son. 

Round. A chip of the old block, I'll warrant. My boy, 
give us your hand. I hope. General, you have taught him to 
be a good democrat; — for same how or other, I find these 
youngsters when they return from college, or even from our. 
common academies, generally tainted with the confounded 
aristocratic notions of modern Whiggery. 

Gen'l F. Major, upon my conscience I believe it is so. I- 
have had my son reading law for some time past, and I want 
him thoroughly indoctrinated in the genuine principles of de- 
mocracy. 

Round. Reading law ! — Why, confound me, if that is'nt 
the very worst way in the world to make a good democrat of 
him. Don't you observe that these young lawyers are almost 
to a man against the administration ? What's the cause of it 1 

Gen'l F. That's rather a perplexing question. Major — 
but I suppose young minds are apt to be poisoned by certain 



Scene 1.) WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. 31 

doctrines not very favorable to democracy, which are found in 
English law books. 

Round. Aye, — and daughters are apt to be spoilt too by 
the trash they pick up at city boarding schools. My Kate, — 
no, you don't remember Kate, General, for I sent her to 
school just before the last Congress election, — Kate, as I 
was saying, instead of coming home in holiday times to see 
her mam and dad,: — what must she do but gad about with 
rich folks, to learn fashionable airs and refinement, as they call 
it. I've one consolation left, however, — it was all the old 
woman's fault. 

Henrv, {to Gen. F.) I will retire, sir, and make prepara* 
tion for my evening visit. 

Gen'l F. Very true; — we will excuse you. {Henry 
goes into the house.) Major, my son intends going a step fur- 
ther this afternoon, but I shall myself remain under your com- 
fortable roof Some of my constituents may be passing, and 
may desire to know what the last Congress has been doing.. 
{Aside.) By the by, it would be a very puzzling inquiry. 

Mr. Round. Your son won't leave us. General, surely, 
I've just sent out to= scrape up half a dozen neighbors — true 
blues, — to welcome your coming; — and I'm resolved we 
sha'nt part until we crack a few bottles together. I'm a tavern 
keeper, it is true, General, — but I've made a little money, and in-- 
tend to do things in my own way, and after our own country 
fashion — and, what is inore, sir, at my own expense. 

Gen'l F. Very true — very true. My dear Major, I ad- 
mire your fine spirit. I will meet the democracy with greali 



d2 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 2, 

pleasure, — •but you must excuse my son, as I wish to despatch 
him on an errand to Mr. Woiihinffton, 

Round. Worthington ' Odds bother it ! If your son keeps 
such company he will be ruined thoroughly. Mr. Worthing- 
ton is one of the most decided Whigs in the whole country, 
and he'll vote against you to-momow as sure as I'm a Miiiiia 
Major. 

Gen'l F. I certainly do not expect his vote, and he may 
be,; — I dare say is, — strongly tinctured with federalism, — which 
is a most dangerous heresy ; but ha's an old acquaintance of 
mine, and privately a very worthy man. 

Round. To speak the honest truth, he is, privately, a right 
clever sort of a man. I wish he was on the right side. 

Gen'l F. An. excellent wish I If there were more per- 
sons on the right side, Major, there would be fewer on the 
wrong. By way of changing the subject, however, what's 
the prospect in the district? Are the people up, think you, or 
has Whiggery been doing mischief? Let's have your candid, 
opinion, for in such matters I rely more upon your judgment 
than upon that of any man of my acquaintanc8. 

Round. I'll tell you the honest truth, General ; its a righC 
nice calculation. Your opponent, Mr. Manly, has been all 
along in this neighborhood,, and. has left his tracks after him. 
Some of the democrats say they heard he was a federalist,, 
but, after seeing with their own eyes, they took him for a 
right decent sort of a man. M-ark me, though ! I would'nt 
say this publicly — not I. I tell the democracy if they'll only 
sland up to the rack, we shall carry the day. 

Gen'l F, That is noble 1 It is one of the greatest of the 



Scene 2.) wiiigs and democrats. 33 

electioneering arts to appear confident of success with the cer- 
tain prospect of defeat. I own to you, I think the contest will 
be a close one, and without intending to flatter, I believe every 
thing will depend upon your precinct. 

Round. Like enough ! but I think I've got the boys in 
good training hereabouts. I can make them wheel to the 
right or to the left with as much ease as I muster my bat- 
talion. I've only to blow a horn, and the rogues swarm 
around me like bees in summer time. 

Gen'l F. It is a good thing to possess influence, if ex- 
erted in a good cause. You're a valuable friend, Major, and 
at the same time a formidable foe. 

Round. When I take a liking, I am very apt to like, 
General — and when I hate, I hate in good earnest — and there's 
no mistake about it. But, come, let me show you my spring, 
where I've put up a tip-top shelter, large enough to dine 
twenty people under it. We'll have a few of the democracy 
there presently, and a little something to go upon. 

Gen'l F. With all my heart. Major. {Exeunt.) 



SCENE II. 

A ROOM IN THE HICKORY TREE TAVERN. 

Enter Cato and Jenny. 

Cato. Well, now I've put away the baggage, if you'll 
show me the kitchen. Miss Jinny, I'll rest my bones awhile, 
and enjoy the satisfaction of your company. 

Jenny. You must be right tired. 



34 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 2. 

Cato. Well, I think I'm right down a little fatijrued, sis- 
ter. I very seldom takes such long rides. [_Pulls out his 
watch.'] Let me see, Mass Henry '11 want his horse exactly in 
an hour by the watch. 

Jenny. Where's the young gemman gwine to ? 

Cato. Why, j'ou see, Miss Jinny, I don't trouble myself 
much about white folks' concerns ; but knowing the Gene- 
ral as well as I do, and his son too, I think I could suppose 
there might be a young lady in the case. 

Jenny. Ah ! you men is always thinking about us ladies. 

Cato. Yes, and you ladies thinks enough of us gemn.en 
too. But, as I was saying, the General's a mighty ambitious 
man, and takes care of the main chance. I was with him 
throughout the whole of last session of Congress, and I'll 
tell you what, Miss Jinny, — though I say it, who should'nl say 
it, — he's as great a palaverer as any in the universe. 

Jenny. What's that ? 

Cato. Why one thing 'fore a man's face, and another 
'hind his back. That's what I call palavering. However, 
Mass Henry's quite a clever sort of a youth ; I never catch'd 
him saying one thing and doing another. 

Jenny. I wish he'd court my young misses. I'll be bound 
she's good enough for him. 

Cato. The General holds his head mighty high, Miss 
Jinny. Right civil too to the commonalty, when he choose; 
but he loves great folks and rich folks to distraction. 

Jenny. You know him very well. 

Cato. Know him ! Why has'nt I kept his company 
ever since I was a boy so high ? 



Scene 2.) whigs and democrats. 35 

Jenny. Well, did you see any color'd ladies at Congress, 
which you fancied ? 

Cato. Yes, plenty of 'em, — but I always kept company, 
myself, with the first class — the servants of Congress-men and 
great folks. I hear 'em talk about the Kitchen Cabinet, but I 
never was the gemman to have nothing to do with it. {Takes 
snuff.) 

Mrs. Round, {loithout.) Jenny — Jenny, I say. 

Jenny. There comes old misses, a-scolding. Do you go 
out this way to the kitchen, and, bime-by, I'll come and sit 
with you. {Exit Cato.) 

Enter JVFrs. Roundiree. 

Mrs. R, You huzzy, what are you idling here for? What 
man was that ? 

Jenny. General Fairweather's servant, ma'am. He 
brought in the baggage, and I just sent him out into the 
kitchen. His young master is now up stairs fixing his dress. 

Mrs. Round. Here he comes now. Go and see that the 
servant is attended to. {Exit Jenny.) Well, thank goodness, 
Kate is gone before this vile election. Nothing but trouble, 
trouble, comes of this politics. From this time till late to- 
morrow, it will all be hurly-burly, noise and frolicking. 

Enter Henry Fainoeather. 

Henry. Madam, your most obedient. I presume you are 
Mrs. Roundtree, and if so, I am happy in having this opportu- 
nity to pay you my respectSi 



36 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 2. 

Mrs. Round. That is my name, sir. {Aside.) He's a 
very civil young gentleman. 

Henry. May I be so bold, madam, to inquire after your 
daughter, Miss Catharine. I had the pleasure of knowing 
her at her boarding school, or rather at the seat of a mutual 
acquaintance in the neighborhood of the city. 

Mrs, Round. Did you indeed, sir ; — and so you know 
our Kate ? You are General Fairw eather's son, I presume, 
sir? 

Henry. I am, madam. I accidentally heard that your 
daughter had returned home. 1 hope that her health and 
spirits are good. 

Mrs. Round. Oh, very good — very good — thank j'ou, sir. 
Kate's amazingly improved, although her father don't seem to 
think so. But Major Roundtree's a man of very queer, whimsical 
notions, Mr. Fairweather. He's so much taken up with poli- 
tics, he hardly thinks of any thing else. Oh ! what would I 
not give, if he would only get rid of this odious tavern-keep- 
ing, Mr. Fairweather. To think, that such a girl tis our 
Kale should be constantly exposed to the eyes of every stran- 
ger ! 

Henry. Such a daughter as your's, madam, need not fear 
the scrutiny of any beholder, — for whilst she has sufficient 
ease and affability to charm the many, she possespes a pecu- 
liar grace and refined elegance of her own, which cannot fail 
to win the hearts of those who are best acquainted with her. 

Mrs. Round. Bless me, sir, what a flatterer you are. 
Well, I wish you had come a little sooner, for Kate has just 
rode over in Mr. Worihington's carriage to stay a day or two 



Scene 2.) whigs and democrats. 37 

with Miss Clara. I am sure it would give her a deal of plea- 
sure to see you, for her mind is constantly running upon her 
town acquaintance; and, indeed, I think it quite strange that 
she has not mentioned you. 

Henry. Perhaps, madam, she did not deem me worthy of 
remembrance. And yet I own I should feel much mortified if 
I thought so. I cannot imagine much keener suffering, than 
that we experience when our own warm feelings are requited 
by coldness and indiiference. 

Mrs. Round. Pray, Mr. Fairweather, have you known 
Kate long ? Is your acquaintance with her in any wise par- 
ticular 1 

Henry. I saw her, madam, for the first time during the 
Christmas holidays, at the house of Mr. Evergreen, a friend of 
my father. Miss Evergreen was her schoolmate and com- 
panion — handsome, accomplished and rich ; but, believe me, 
when compared with your Catharine, even with all those at- 
tractions, she was but an ordinary girl. 

Mrs. Round. Indeed! is it possible? bless me! Well I 
always thought Kate a very promising child. Mr. Fairwea- 
ther you must stay long enough with us to see her. I'll send 
her word you are here. I am very sure she will be glad to 
•see you. 

Henry. Fortunately, madam, my father is about to de- 
spatch me with a letter to Mr. "VVorthington, so that I shall 
have the pleasure of renewing my acquaintance with Miss 
Catharine. 

Mrs. Round. And you will have an opportunity of seeing 
■another fine girl at the same time, I mean Mr, Worthington's 
4 



38 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 2> 

daughter. Miss Clara is one of the hveliest, amiablestj 
sweetest young ladies in all these parts ; and I'd warn any 
young gentleman who sees her to count uix)n being captivated 
at first sight. And then she's so rich, 

Henry. Oh never fear, madam ! I wear an armor which 
is invulnerable to all Miss Clara's charms. 

Enter Roundtree and General Fairweather, 

Gen'l F. Mrs. Roundtree, your very humble servant, ma- 
dam. I hope I have the happiness, madam, of seeing you 
well. It has been at least two years, I believe, since I had 
that pleasure before. 

Mrs. Round. Yes sir, just before you were chosen to 
Congress, two years ago. I recollect Major Roundtree was 
very active in your election, and I hope he will be so again, 
General ; both for your sake and for the sake of your son. 

Gen'l F. My son, madam ! I rejoice that you have so 
soon made his acquaintance. Henry — by the way, I had liked 
to have forgotten the letter to Worthington — I'll go and write 
this moment. Mis. Roundtree — Major — you will both excuse 
me for a few minutes. Henry, a word with you in private, 
[General Fainveather and Henry exeunt.) 

Round. Dolly, I'm expecting the boys every moment — 
and it's time to send down the eatables. I've got all the 
drinkables in fine order, ready for action. What's become of 
Kate ? 

Mrs. Round. She's on the road to Mr. Worthington's. 
Did'nt you know that Miss Clara sent the carriage for her ? 



Scene 2.) whigs and democrats. 39 

Round. Not I, indeed. Odds bother it ! if this is'nt ra- 
ther a strange thing, for the daughter of Major Roundtree to 
be riding in a federal whig carriage. If the democracy find it 
out, I shall be blown sky high ! 

Mrs. Round. Never mind the democracy ! If they give 
themselves any airs, I'll send them home to their wives, with 
such a blast as will make the hen-peck'd varlets fairly tremble. 
I have a word for your private ear, Mr. Roundtree, — and I ask 
you to hearken attentively. 

Round. Let's hear what it is. 

Mrs. Round. Now, mark what I tell you ! This young 
Mr. Fairweather, the General's son, is a beau of our Kate, as 
certain as you are a Militia Major, — and what is more, he 
loves her. I know it all ; I got it from his own handsome 
lips. Yes, and he's going now this moment to Mr. Worthing- 
ton's to see her. 

Round. Odds bother it, wife, — you must be jesting. Where 
did he meet with her ? 

Mrs. Round. He saw her during the Christmas holidays ; 
got acquainted with her ; and fell violently in love with her. 
I know it all. I wish now you could have only heard the young 
man talk about Kate; it would have done your heart good. 

Round. Confound me, if it would'nt be a right good match, 
Dolly. The General's a good democrat, and so am I ; and why 
should'nt the children marry if they like each other ? 

Mrs. Round. Well, now, Major — you talk like a sensible, 
rational man — that you do. I hav'nt it in my conscience to 
scold you again for a month. If the dear things should only 



40 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 2- 

fancy each other, won't you buy Kate a nice piany 1 I kno-w 
you will. 

Round. A piany, — let's see, — what will it cost ? — only a 
few hundred dollars. Why, I think a fellow might afford that. 

Mrs. Round. I'll declare you are now one of the most rea- 
sonable men in the world. I thought you would come over to 
my way of thinking ; I knew you would. Did'nt I tell yoU' 
all along that Kate was born for something extromary, — and 
that wftat you spent on her edication, would be clear gain? 

Round. Confound me, I believe you did, — and I don't know 
but what you were right. General Fairweather's son, I reckon, 
would be no bad bargain. \_JVoise without^] Ha ! I hear the 
boys coming. We must give the General a warm welcome.. 

Mrs. Round. And I'll do my part, since Ifind you are quite 
a reasonable man. \_Enler General Fairiveatker.'] Pray, sir, 
won't your son take some refreshment before he goes to Mr. 
Worthington's ? 

Gen'l F. No, madam — he is already off at a tangent. 
When the boy has an object in view, he seems to set hunger, 
thirst and fatigue at defiance. 

Mrs. Round. He has an object then in view, sir, in going 
to Mr. Worthington's? 

Gen'l F. Oh yes, I presume so, madam, — at least I have 
for him ; — I sent him as the bearer of a letter. 

Mrs. Round. He will see our daughter Kate there. Gene- 
ral. He became acquainted with her last winter. 

Gen'l F. Did he indeed, madam ? — I have not heard Henry 
speak of her, — but he is by no means communicative. 



Scene 2.) whigs and democrats. 41 

Mrs. Round. He's a noble youth, General — that he is. 
[_Exil hastihj.~\ 

[Enter on the opposite side, Slang — Bangall — Rowdie — and 
Chipps.'] 

Round. Boys, you are all welcome. This is our Congress- 
man, General Fairweather, and a candidate for re-election. 
Surely you hav'nt forgot the General. 

\M together.'] Hurra for the General ! — Hurra ! 

Slang. Forgot the Gin'ral! — no — not we. Gin'ral, give 
us a shake of your paw. Why, we could as soon forget old 
Hickory himself 

Fair. Gentlefnen, I am most happy to meet with you. I 
am very sure that your late Representative has not forgotten 
his faithful constituents. 

Bangall. I'll be drot if the Gin'ral don't look fresher about 
the gills, and more youthfuller, than he did two years ago. 
Don't he. Major ? 

Round. He looks amazing well. 

RowDiE. Gin'ral, what sorter tobacco do they chaw in 
Washington'? I should be glad of a good chaw. 

Fair. Oh, with great pleasure. Here is some of most ex- 
cellent manufacture. I generally take two or three pounds ex- 
tra with me, for the special accommodation of my friends. 

Chipps. Gin'ral, have you forgot Jemmy Chipps ? I voted 
for you at the last election, and mother said I wer'nt of age 
neither. 

Fair. Oh, Mr. Chipps, your most obedient. I remember you 
4# 



42 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Aet 2. 

Qow, very well — I very seldom forget faces. How is Mrs. 
Chipps, my good fellow ? 

Chipps. Mrs. Chipps indeed ! — I hav'nl that misfortune to 
answer for neither. I can hardly take care of myself, much 
more of one of your highflyers, who likes to put on a quantity 
of finery and the like of that. 

RowDiE. Gin'ral, don't you remember that famous speech 
of yourn at the long session, which you sont me 1 

Fair. Speech ! — ah — ah — I — I believe I do. Let us see, 
what was the particular subject 1 

RowDiE. Subject ! — Why I don't bother my brains much 
about the subject ; but I read every word of it to the old wo- 
man — I am sure of that. Oh, yes — I do remember ; you gave 
the Bank monster a licking. It was a real soaker. 

Fair. Oh yes — yes — I remember. The Bank was a great 
enemy to the Democracy,— and I did'nt spare it. 

RowDiE. And I think there was something in it too about 
the Tariff. That Tariff, Gin'ral, must be a monstrous mis- 
chievous thing — a sort of sea sarpent, I reckon. 

Fair. You are perfectly right. The tariff was like a great 
robber, who would thrust his hands into the pocket of one per- 
son, and put the stolen purse into the pocket of another person. 
But we've chained that monster too. 

Chipps. Well, that is rather better than the robber's put- 
ting the money into his own pocket, Gin'ral. For my part, I 
should like to have mine pretty well fill'd. 

Bangall. Gin'ral, I suppose you're in favor of the sove- 
ranity of the people 1 

Fair. Oh, my dear sir — that is one of the fundamental ar- 



Scene 2.) whigs and democrats. 43 

tides of the democratic creed. In this country the people are 
supreme. {Enter Supine.) Ah! here is my old acquaintance, Mr. 
Supine ; I remember him well. Pray, Mr. Supine, how fares 
it with you 2 

Supine. Indifferently well, General. I hope you enjoy all 
the substantial blessings — and that you are not troubled with, 
that weariness of spirit which we scholars call tedium vitce. 

Fair. Thank you, Mr. Supine. I possess quite a rea- 
sonable share of creatvu'ely comforts. Moreover, I believe I 
have found out the true philosopher's stone : that is, always to 
take things as we find them, and never quarrel with our 
bread and butter. 

Sup. Excellent doctrine ! We should likewise be mode- 
rate in our desires, General, — Contentus parvo. For example: 
if, peradventure, you should be defeated in your election to- 
morrow, you will no doubt bear it like a man — and, as a good 
democrat should always do, submit to the vox populi. 

Fair. That is a contingency, Mr. Supine, which I ought 
not to fear, v/hen surrounded by so many good friends. I be- 
lieve I had the honor of your vote at the last election. 

Sup. That is true. General — but, as I know you like sin- 
cerity and candor, I am free to confess that for some time past 
I have been somewhat on the fence — or, as I might better ex- 
press it, lahorans duhitatione. 

Fair, ^onj to hear it. Hope no vote or act of mine, Mr. 
Supine, has occasioned your displeasure. 

Slang. Never mind the schoolmaster, Gin'ral. I'll be 
blamed if we don't scatter his boys and gals, and set the old 
log-house on fire, if he votes agin j^ou. Won't we Bangall? 



44 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS, (Act 2. 

Bang. As sure as a gun we will. 

Fair. My dear good friends, don't threaten violence to our 
excellent fellow-citizen, Mr. Supine. He is the Socrates or 
Plato of your neighborhood, — the instructor of your children, — 
and, withal, T have no doubt a very reasonable man. What if 
he doubts to-day, — to-morrow he will prove faithful to the good 
cause. 

Round. Look here, gentle folks, — this is all talk and no 
liquor, as the saying is. I have got a table spread under the 
shelter at the spring, and something substantial to go upon. 
Let's go and take a glass together, and that will settle all dif- 
ferences of opinion. 

RowDiE. Hurra for Major Roundtree ! 

Slang mid others. Hurra ! Hurra ! 

Round. Come along, Mr. Supine, — you shall go with us. 

Sup. Periculum in pociila ; there is danger in the cup. 

Fair. Never mind danger, my good friend, — I will stand 
by you to the uttermost. {Takes him by the arm.) 

Supine. I follow you. General. I attach myself to your 
command pro tempore and ex necessitate ; — but remember, that 
the mind of the free voter is not to be chained by the fascina- 
tions of social intercourse. As to these good people, who are 
just before us, permit me in classical language to say, odi pro- 
fanum vulgus. {Exeunt Fairiveather and Supine, folloxving th& 
rest.) 



Scene 3.) whigs and democrats. 45 



SCENE III. 

A SALOON AT MR. WORTHINGTON's. 

Enter Clara Worthington and Catharine Fairioeather. 

Clara. Well, Catharine, I hope your slumbers will be 
sweet and quiet to-night. I am sure you must need repose — 
for, even when we are surprised agreeably^ our spirits are 
somewhat agitated in spite of ourselves. Now, is'nt it so ? 

Cath. Dear Miss Clara, tell me your reason for thinking 
that this young gentleirjan's visit was particularly intended for 
me, or that I was particularly delighted and surprised at 
meeting him % 

Clara. Oh, you unconscious girl. Don't you remember 
we were standing together at the window when he rode up, — 
that I, mistaking the son for the father, wondered if the hon- 
orable General Fairweather could look so young, — and, that 
when he leaped from his horse and approached the house, your 
breathing became suddenly short, — ^}'our cheeks reddened to 
crimson, and your eyes sparkled like rain drops in the sun ? 

Cath. Miss Clara, you are quite eloquent. Was it won- 
derful, that the meeting with an acquaintance unexpectedly, 
should have caused some little emotion % 

Clara. Not at all, — and especially if that acquaintance 
was one calculated to inspire emotion. But that is not all. 
Come, tell me, if I did not hear some soft whispering between 
you, when I was playing a few of my new pieces this after- 
noon'? Why not make me your confidant? To be candid 



46 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 2. 

with you, I have had someihuig to do with these mj'sterious 
love aifairs myself lately — and, being somewhat your senior, I 
may give you some friendly counsel. 

Catii. I'll declare, Miss Clara, there is no resisting jou. 
Well, I do^own that I met young Fairweather for the first time 
at Christmas, — that we were together every day for a week, — 
that he is very handsome and intelligent, — that his conversa- 
tion is very interesting, — his manners very insinuating, — and 
that before we parted I believe we were mutually not at all 
displeased with each other. Dear Miss Clara, tell me if there 
is any harm in all this 1 

Clara. None in the world ! I think it perfectly innocent 
not to be displeased with any body ; and what is more, I think 
it equally innocent to be very much pleased with somebody. 
Now, Catharine, suppose I were to tell you, that you had ac- 
tually taken away my beau. What would you think of it ? 

Cath. Think of it? I should think it very unfriendly 
and ungrateful indeed, if I could suppose it possible. 

Clara. But it is possible, — and what is more, I believe I 
could almost persuade you it was true. Now let me read you 
a letter which papa slyly put into my hands before he and 
Mr. Henry went out to walk. It was brought by the young 
gentleman himself, and was written by his father. {Reads.) 

" Hickory-Tree Tavern. 

" JVZy Dear Worthington : 

" I sent you word I should be with you the day before the- 
" election ; but I find it necessary to remain here to-night, and 
" have therefore despatched my son to make my apology and 
" act as my representative. He has lately obtained his law 



Scene 3.) whigs and democrats. 47 

" license, and I understand, passed his examination with credit. 
" You will find him well informed, and, between ourselves, I 
" suspect him of a strong leaning to Whiggery. When last at 
" your house, your daughter, I believe, was at school, and I 
" understand she is all that a parent's heart could desire. I 
" must tell you frankly, I am anxious that Henry should see 
« her, — and if the interview should lead to a union of our 
" houses, there is no one who would more rejoice at it than him, 
'• who, though separated from you in politics, still subscribes 
" himself your old classmate and assured friend, 

" Francis Fairweather." 

Now, tell me, dear Catharine, don't that look something like 
taking my beau from me ? 

Cath. {seriously.) — No, Miss Clara — but it looks very much 
like taking my beau from me. 

Clara. Oh, never fear that. I promise you I will do no 
such thing. I do not think that the interviews between Mr. 
Henry and myself, are likely to lead to a union between the 
houses of Worlhinglon and Fairweather. Not that I would by 
any means disparage the young gentleman, — but there are 
very strong reasons why he and I cannot be united in the holy 
bonds of wedlock. 

Cath. Dear Clara — what are they? 

Clara. He loves another — and so do I. 

Cath. If you love another. Miss Clara, it meets the appro- 
bation of all concerned, — but, alas ! in m}'- case. General Fair- 
weather will never permit his family pride to be humbled by a 
marriage connection with the daughter of a tavern keeper, 

Clara. Come, don't be serious, I beg you. I do not know 



48 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 2, 

the father, it is true, — but I rather think the son will have some- 
thing to say on that subject himself. One thing you may rest 
assured of ; little Cupid is never much troubled about pedigrees* 
But here come the gentlemen from their evening walk. 

Enter Worthington and Henry. 

Worth. Young ladies, you should have joined us in our 
walk. Nature has nearly completed her spring toilet, and the 
music of the woods is only rivalled by that with which you 
charmed us in the parlor. 

Clara. I hope that Mr. Fairweather was equally pleased 
with the excursion. After his fatiguing ride, rest would per- 
haps have been more agreeable. 

Henry. With your society, Miss Worthington, I confess I 
should have given the parlor a decided preference. 

Clara. Indeed, sir, you are very complimentary, — but I 
cannot in conscience claim the whole merit of interesting you, 
when my friend Miss Roundtree, is entitled to her full propor- 
tion. 

Worth, My daughter, you perceive, Mr. Fairweather, is 
quick at repartee. But Miss Catharine, I presume, would not 
disown her share of skill in the art of pleasing. 

Cath. It is certainly very desirable, sir, to possess that art; 
and, I suppose, in a greater or less degree, it belongs to every 
one who has the temper and willingness to practise it. 

Worth. Justly and truly said. There are some persons in 
the world, however, so strangely constituted, that they feel little 
or no enjoyment in imparling happiness to others ; they have 
neither the temper nor willingness to make themselves agreea» 



Scene 3.) wiiiGS and democrats. 49 

ble, unless induced to do so by personal vanity or the desire of 
admiration. 

Clara. I'll declare I believe we are all getting very senti- 
mental ; and, as an evening walk in spring, is apt to inspire ap- 
petite, as well as sentiment, I will hurry the servants with sup- 
per. {Exit.) 

Worth. A very timely thought ! — Mr. Fairweather, I pre- 
sume you go to the election to-morrow 1 

Henry. My father desired me to ride over. You will 
doubtless, sir, also attend. 

Worth. That is the first duty of a citizen ; often a pain- 
ful one, but enjoined by the highest considerations. You are no 
doubt apprised that your father and myself were early friends 
and classmates ; and yet we differ so essentially in our politi- 
cal views, that I shall be compelled not only to record ra}^ vote, 
but to exert what influence I may have, against him. 

Henry. Your sentiments on that subject, sir, I entirely ap- 
prove. 

Worth. And, as to-morrow will be given to the public, I 
must devote the remainder of to-day, to private matters. Be 
pleased therefore to excuse me for the present. ( Exit.) 

Henry. Catharine, you look serious. 

Cath. I think I have cause. 

Henry. Indeed ! — It was but an hour since you were appa- 
rently happy. Has any thing occurred ? 

Cath. Yes ! — Miss Worthington read me your father's let- 
ter, of which }'ou were the bearer. Do you know the contents 
of that letter ? 

Henry. Upon my honor, I do not. 
5 



50 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 2' 

Cath. Then I will tell you. The purpose of your father 
in sending you to this house, was to seek a more honorable alli- 
ar.cehan with the daughter of a tavern-keeper. Were you 
aware of his intention 1 

Henry. It was but yesterday, for the first time, that he re- 
vealed to me such a design, — but I repelled the suggestion at 
once. 

Cath. And yet, you came willingly. 
• Henry. Most willingly — when your mother informed me 
you were here. 

Cath. Henry, I believe you sincere, — but, remember, when 
you first urged your suit, you saw me in a sphere of life, 1 was 
not accustomed to. My parents are not only comparative- 
ly poor ; but, if you judge them by those distinctions which 
prevail in society, their condition is an humble one. You must, 
therefore, be convinced that the great inequality between us, 
must constitute a serious, if not insurmountable bar to our 
union. Confess that you were rash in your declaration of love, 
and did not consider these difficulties with sufficient calmness 
and forethought. 

Henry. I did consider, and am fully prepared to meet them.> 
You were candid enough to state these difficulties before. I am 
no stranger to them. 

Cath. Your father would never consent to receive me as 
the equal of his son, or as the rightful sharer of his parental 
love. On the contrary, his mind is clearly intent upon some al- 
liance, which would be more gratifying to worldly ambition. 
This startling conviction, Henry, iicver forced itself on my maind 
until your father's letter was read to me ; and it now seems 



Scene 3.) wniGS and democrats. 51 

plain, that to cherish this attachment longer, would not only 
alienate his affections from jou, but reduce me to the humbled 
condition of a despised intruder. Let us then, whatever pangs 
it may cost, endeavor to forget each other. 

Henry. Never — never ! — If I wanted further proof of your 
worth, Catharine, this generous offer of self-sacrifice would be 
sufficient. But harbor not for one moment the thought, that I 
could ever repent my attachment, or waver in my purposes, 
from calculations of interest. I consider you irrevocably pledged 
to me — as I am to you, — and neither the fear of a father's 
anger, nor the possible loss of fortune, shall alter my resolution. 

Cath. Think, Henry — think how relentless is family pride ; 
think of the scorn which Catharine Roundtree Avould have to 
encounter. 

Henry. You overrate this matter much. We live in a 
country where the prejudices to which you refer, are fast yield- 
ing to the spirit of the age. Mankind are becoming too wise, 
to believe, that to be well descended, as it is called, gives claim 
to respect in the absence of personal merit ; and innocence and 
beauty ai'e as often found in humble life, as in the circles of 
fashion and luxury. 

Cath. You suffer your feelings, Henry, on this subject, to 
master your judgment. I fear you will soon be convinced that 
both of us have been rash and imprudent. 

Henry. Banish these fears, I beseech you, — and, especial- 
ly, do not betray your feelings to the family. {Bell rings.) Let 
us begone. Worthington and his daughter are waiting our 
presence. {Exeunt.) 



52 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. 

BEFORE THE HICKORY TREE TAVERN. 

Enter Roundtree and Fainoeather. 

RouNDTREE. Glorious clay this, General, for the election. 
I think the democrac}'' will muster strong presently, — for my 
scouts and file leaders, have had orders to beat up every bush ; 
aye, and to clap fire on everj'^ democratic terrapin's back in the 
precinct.* 

Fairweather. You have done well, Major. I believe 
this county, and perhaps this precinct, is to decide the election. 
With the aid of the knowing ones in these matters, I have 
ascertained that the other parts of the district Avill be about 
equally divided, or, as the sportsmen say, neck and neck, be- 
tween the candidates, — so that, in fact, you may be said to 
have the issue of the day's contest in your own hands. 

Round. Then, "I'll take the responsibility," as the old 
Hero so emphatically said he would do. 

Fair. The district is a small one in territory, — and I have 
made arrangements, by means of hired expresses, to get the 

*Note by the Printer's Devil.— The, Major in this and some other ex- 
pressions which occasionally escape him, seems to have been guilty of 
a little plagiarism. 



Scene 1.) whigs and dejiocrats. 53^ 

probable result to-night. My success is not only very im- 
portant to the party, but to me personally, — for, to be very 
candid Major, — and it is a disclosure which I would make to 
none but my true friends, — I had a hint from one of the cabi- 
net, that my re-election would ensure hereafter a very high 
appointment, — probably a foreign embassy. 

Round. Those who fight for the democracy, and win the 
victory, have the best right to the spoils. I'hat is the true 
doctrine ; and I think, General, considering that the laborer is 
worthy of his hire, I must put in a claim myself one of these 
days, for a bite at the public crib. 

Fair. By all means — by all means; there is no one of 
my acquaintance whose claims stand upon higher ground. 
Let me alone for that, Major. You shall find that General 
Fairweather will never abandon his friends, so long as they 
stick to him. I foa.r we can do nothing with the school- 
master. 

Round. An obstinate old mule! I plied him M'ell with. 
liquor last night, until towards bed time he was coniforlably 
filled up : but it made him, if possible, more perverse and in- 
dependent than before. All the answer I could get was a^ 
growl, and occasionally a little dog latin. 

Enter Supine from the house.. 

Fair. Good morrow, Mr. Supine. 

Sup. Salve, salve, General! Not exactly myself in found 
bodily condition to-day — rather an uneasy sensation about t he 
head — or, as the latins would call it, capitis dolor. My friend 
5* 



54 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3. 

Major Roundtreej was rather too liberal with his gifts on jes- 
ter night. 

Round. Fine day for the election, Mr. Supine. 

Supine. Oh, very fine, — very luminous, — that is, if con- 
sidered in reference to atmospheric temperature and transpa- 
rency ; but as a political day, psradventure it may be a 
pretty dark one — tenebrosus dies. 

Fair. It would be dark indeed, Mr. Supine, should the 
principles of democracy unluckily sustain a defeat ; and I en- 
tertain the hope that a night's reflection has conducted your 
vigorous and well stored mind to the same conclusion. Not 
that I solicit your vote for myself, Mr. Supine. No, sir, not 
for the world. I feel no anxiety on my own account, — none 
whatever. I go altogether for principle. 

Supine. A noble resolve, General. Principia non homines, 
is the maxim of every correct politician ; and it is one by 
which I propose to govern myself to-day. Personal respect 
and acquaintance, might incline me to record my suffrage in 
your favor, but duty to my country will oblige me to vote for 
3'Our competitor. I must now go down to the schoolhouse, 
and dismiss the scholars for the day. Salve ct vale. {Exit.) 

Round. An old gull ! The whigs have won him over by 
flattering his scholarship. 

Fair. Major — I think every vote will count to-day. Is 
there no weak point about this pedagogue, at which we 
can penetrate him? Is he vain, — avaricious, — aspiring, — or 
what gap is it that will give us free access to his heart 1 

Round, Why — I believe I will go and promise the old 



Scene].) WHIGS and democrats. 55 

Jack, to build him a new schoolhouse. May be that will do 
the business. 

Fair. Or, as his wardrobe is rather scanty, suppose we 
threaten to clap a new coat upon his back. 

Round. I think I'll try the schoolhouse first ; but the 
thing must be done with skill. I must bring- some of my 
military tactics to bear on him. {Exit— following Supine.) 

Fair, {solus.) Perhaps the old pedant is honest, after all ; 
for although honesty is rather a rare plant, I believe it may be 
found sometimes, and as often in the woods as elsewhere. 
Let me see. Henry promised to be here about this hour. 
{Takes out his loatch.) Apropos ! here he is. {Enter 
Henry.) Well, n:iy lad, how did you find Worthington and 
his fair da4.ighter. Your visit, I hope, was very agreeable to 
all parties. 

Henry. Very agreeable to me, sir, I assure you. 

Fair. So far, so good. Of course you saw the young 
lady. 

Henrv. Yes, sir, certainly. 

Fair. Is she beautiful ? 

Henry. Very beautiful ! 

Fair. And accomplished ? 

Henry. Highly accomplished ! 

Fair. Do you think you could love her 1 

Henry. I not only think so, but I know that I do love 
her with fond devotedness. 

Fair. By my troth — but you must either be a, very sus- 
ceptible youth, or the girl must possess supernatural charms to 
bewitch you so suddenly. 



56 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3. 

Henry. Not very suddenly either, sir. I have known her 
for several months. 

Fair. Whom do you mean? Miss Worthington, — the 
daughter of my friend ? 

Henry. No sir, not Miss Worthington — but the daughter 
of another whom you also style your friend. Her have I seen 
at Mr. Worthington's house, the companion of his daughter. 
And, as it is proper that I should no longer disguise from you 
ihe fact, I frankly acknowledge, that the young lady to 
whom I allude, is in full possession of my heart — and that I 
am unalterably pledged to her. 

Fair. Explain yourself — whom do you mean ? 

Henry. I mean the daughter of your friend Major Round- 
tree, the keeper of this tavern. 

Fair. The daughter of Major Roundtree, the keeper of 
this tavern ! Have you lost your reason ? Have your law 
studies run you stark mad? or have you been cramming your 
brain with silly love-sick romances ? 

Henry. I am not mad, but speak the words of truth and 
soberness. Miss Roundtree has been well educated, and is all 
I could possibly desire her to be. She is sensible, — beautiful 
and good, — and I would prefer to wed her without a penny, 
than even the accomplished Miss Worthington with a fortune. 

Fair. Do you dare, sir, speak this language to me 1 You 
wed the daughter of Major Roundtree ? A Fainoeather con- 
nect himself with the vulgar progeny of a tavern-keeper, — a 
low pot-house politician, — a clownish Major of Militia 1 — You, 
sir, tell me this to my face ? — By my troth, but I'll disinherit 



Scene 1.) WHiGS and democrats. 57 

you on the spot. A fellow of such grovelling propensities, 
shall not finger one dollar of my fortune. 

Henry. I expected this storm would come ; and I must 
patiently abide its pelting. 

Fair. What, sir — and insult me too to my face, with a 
tone of defiance ? — Fury and desperation ! — Why, sir, this 
shall be the bitterest hour of your life. Is this a plot laid to 
ruin me, — and can this old fox Roundtree, be accessary to it? 
His Jezebel of a wife knew of the meeting most certainly ; — 
Ah, here he comes opportimely. {Enter Roundlree.) Major — 
here is a very disagreeable business, and I desire a prompt ex- 
planation. I sent this son of mine yesterday to the house 
of Mr. Worthington, and it seems that he met your daughter 
there, as if by appointment. I hope sir, you had no hand in 
the matter. 

Round. Odds bother it, General! what do you mean? — 
Your son met my daughter at Mr. Worthington's ! and what's 
that to you or me % Has'nt my daughter as much right to go 
there as your son ? Oh ho ! — you're afraid they might possi- 
bly make a match of it, are you 1 Confound me if I don't 
think this very extraordinary talk from a good democrat. 

Fair. Democracy, sir, has nothing to do with a man's pri- 
vate affairs. Democracy, sir — is a matter of public concern. 
I am now speaking, sir, of clandestine interviews, and clan- 
destine engagements among young people, who have no dis- 
cretion. I am now speaking, sir, of improper and unsuitable 
matches. I I 

Round. Look you here, General — look you here ! You 
are my superior officer, and I am bound to treat you with all 



58 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3. 

proper respect, when on military duty ; — but here, sir, at the 
Hickory Tree tavern, and on an election day, TU let you know 
that I am as good as you or any other man. 

Fair. And I'll lei you know, sir, I do not choose that my 
son shall marry without my consent. Marriage, sir, is a do- 
mestic arrangement between families, and has no connection 
with politics ; — marriage is a rratter altogether of private feel- 
ing, Henry, follow me this instant. {Exit.) 

Henry. Be not offended with him. Major. His anger will 
soon subside. {Exit.) 

Round, {solus.) Why, here is a terrible clatter, to be 
sure ! — Mad with me, because his son chooses to take a liking 
to my daughter ! — Why he scolds as fvu'iously as an old 
woman. I never heard Mrs. Roundtree fume so, since the 
day we were married. Odds bother it ! this pretended demo- 
crat is a rank federalist in disguise, — but Til fix his flint for 
him; — I'll be knocked into a cock'd hat if I don't. {Enter 
J\Irs. Roundtree from the house.) ^V'hy, Dolly, here's a pretty 
spot of work. We are dished, as sure as I am a Major of 
Militia. The General has found out what you suspicioned 
3^ourself — that his son looks kindly at our Kate, — and he's got 
into such a rage about it, that although 1 am a field officer 
and he a Brigadier, I could hardly keep ni}' courage down ! 

Mrs. Round. Bless m.e ! bless me ! I thought that the 
General would be overjoyed at it. Now you don't tell me that 
he's as angry as all that. This comes of his not seeing Kate 
with his own eyes. I'll send over to Mr. Worthingiou's for hor 
directly. I am sure if he could oi;ily talce a good look at her 
he'd be perfectly melted. 



Scene i.) WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. 59 

Mr. Round. Aye, send over Jemmy Chipps for the child, 
Dolly, — and let him bring her to her own home immediately. 
{Mrs. R. goes into the house.) She shall come, but not to turn 
away General Fairweather's wrath. I'll lock her up — and 
not one of the aristocratic breed shall even take a peep at her. 
Odds bother it ! — he think himself above me and my family ! — 
I'll teach him, that on election days a Major of Militia is as 
good as a Congress General. 

Enter Supine. 

Sup. You seem to be somewhat disconcerted, IMajor,— 
oliquanto irritatus. {Takes snuff.) 

Round. Mr. Supine, you are perfectly ria;ht not to vote for 
this swaggering, ill-humored, purse-proud aristocrat. General 
Fairwealher. He is not a genuine democrat, sir, — but an 
abominable federal whig in disguise. 1 have just found him 
out. He's been playing 'possum in this district for several 
3'ears, and I'll have his dough-face taken off this day. 

Sup. This is what I would denominate a very sudden 
somerset. Major, — repenlimis vcrtens ! 

Round. I don't know what the Latin of it is, sir, but I 
understand the English ; and if ] don't make the boys stand 
up to-day and give the General a broadside, I'll never wear 
another epaulet on my shoulders ! Above mc and my family ^ eh! 
I can tell him, Mr. Supine, that the Ruundireesare as good as 
the Fairweathers any day. 

Sup. Just as good. Major. 1 have no doubt we are all de- 
scended, in truth, from one common family. Old Mr. Law- 



^0 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3. 

rence Roundtree, your grandfather, I knew when I was a boy, 
and he was a man such as we find not often in these degene- 
rate daj^s. 

Round. Let us go and see the boys that are already on 
the ground. I told Rowdie, and Slang, and Bangall, to muster 
all their forces ; but I reckon, as how, they shall fight under a 
new flag, and that pretty soon. Move me and my family^ eh ! 
A foreign embassy, eh ! Come this way, Mr. Supine, and let 
me tell you of this fellow's insolence. {Exeunt.) 



SCENE II. 

A ROOM IN WORTHINGTOn's HOUSE. 

Enter Clara and Catharine. 

Clara. Did Henry say that his father should know all 1 

Cath. So he declared at parting, — and if, as I fully expect 
Miss Clara, his father should be obstinately opposed to our 
union, I am resolved never to see him more. 

Clara. Make no rash promises, Catharine. You love 
young Henry — and woman's love, if true, is not so light and 
transient a thing, that we may cherish and discard it at plea- 
sure. 

Cath. But there are other and keener pangs than those of 
disappointed love. 

Clara. Perhaps so ; but why do you like to contemplate 



Scene 2.) whigs and democrats. 61 

the dark side of the picture ? Since I read you that unfortu- 
nate letter, jou are absokitely changed into a new being. 

Enter Worthington. 

Worth. Miss Catharine, here is Mr. Chipps on a hasty 
errand from your mother, and desires to see you himself. 

Enter Chipps^ hastily. 

Cath. Mr. Chipps, what in the world is the matter ? 

Chipps. Matter, Miss Kate ! Why I'll be dog'd if I can 
hardly tell myself, — exceptm' that I've almost run the breath 
out of my body. 

Cath. Is any one ill? 

Chipps. No ; but I guess some one's in a piping rage. — ' 
Your mother ax'd me to come over in a great hurry and fetch 
you home, — and she says that the IMajor is boiling all over, 
and wants to see you a bit. 

Cath. 'Tis very strange ! 

Chipps. Not very strange neither, Miss Kate — for I've a 
sort of a notion, from a sly hint the old woman dropped, that 
our Congressman 's in a kind of a pucker too, about something. 
You know what I told you about going down yonder among 
those whig folks to get an edication. 

Cath. Dear Miss Clara, I will get my bonnet and take 
leave. 

Worth. You must not return on foot, Miss Catharine, 
with our consent. I will order the carriage, and Clara shall 



62 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3- 

accompany us. Mr. Chipps can return immediately, and say 
we are coming. 

Chipps. But, sir, I calkilated upon having some snug lilile 
chat with Miss Kate myself, as we went along. I and sbe 
used to be old cronies a.nd school-fellows, and many a time has 
I helped hsr over the fences, and let down the bars for her, as 
we went to the old log house together. 

Worth. I must insist upon waiting on the young lady 
myself — and you may so inform her parents. 

Chipps. Well, if it can't be help'd it can't. So, sir, I am 
your sarvant. {Exit.) 

Worth. Miss Catharine, I beg that you will not sufFer 
j'-ourself to be discomposed by trifles. Con.sidcr me as one en- 
tirely disposed to befriend you, — and be assured also, that in 
my daughter's affection j'ou may place the fullest confidence. 
{Exit.) 

Cath. Dear Clara, how sweet is that assurance. 

Clara. I shall be most happy, Catharine, to be numbered 
among your friends. Let the rougher sex exhibit the insta- 
bility of human attachments, but we will remain knit to- 
gether by those gentle bonds which time shall only make 
stronger and brighter. {Exeunt.) 



Scene 3.) WIIIGS AND DEMOCRATS. 63 



SCENE III. 

BEFORE THE HICKORY TREE TAVERN. 

Roundlree, Si/pine, Slang, Bangall, Rowdie, and others, in a group. 

Round. Fellow citizens, soldiers, brothers, neighbors, and 
democrats ! As I was telling you, I have always been a true 
friend to the democracy. I have stood np for the cause 
tln-ough good report and evil report ; and when others have 
sneaked away when they thought it rather a ticklish con- 
cern, I have always been ready to sink or sxoim with my 
party. 

RowDiE. That you have, Major — you shouted and hurra'd 
for old Hickory, when there warn't five men in the neighbor- 
hood that would dare to pat you on the back byway of encou- 
ragement. 

Slang. I can testify, Major, that you've always been a 
whole hog — drag-out repubhcan, — the real grit. 

Bangall. If any man disputes your democracy, Major, 
send him to me, and I'll give him such a sockdologer he 
shan't know what hm-t him. 

Round. Well, then, as I was telling you, I always sup- 
ported this rnan. General Fairweather, for Congress. I thought 
him a sterling, bang-up republican, — but I am sorry to say 
that I've found him out, and that he's not the clean thing. He 
smells too much like an aristocrat for me; and I should'nt 



64 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3. 

wonder after all, if he had some notions of monarchy about 
him. What do you think of his boiler's almost bursting, be- 
cause his son happened to be thrown into company with my 
daughter Kate? Is that acting like a good democrat? Aint 
Major Roundtree's daughter as good as any man's son ? I 
appeal to you, as the sovereign people ; and I hope when you 
march up to the polls, you will vote for some one besides a 
federal whig in disguise. 

Slang. Is it possible that Gineral Fairweather could have 
acted so ? 

Bangall. Well, blame my eyes, if I did'nt suspicion the 
Gineral of being a federalist. 

RowDiE. We sha'nt vote for him, — and that's flat 1 

Omnes. We won't vote for any such man ! 

Round. Depend upon it, friends, he's not the man he's 
cracked up to be. Instead of looking to the interests of the 
democracy, he's got a hankering after the loaves and fishes for 
himself Why what do you think of his telling me, that if 
elected, he expects to get a fat office somewhere beyond the 
water ? 

Slang. Abominable ! 

Bangall. Monstrous ! 

RowDiE. Down with him ! 

Round. Ask Mr. Supine here, who you know is a good 
man, and has taught most of your children their reading and 
writing, — ask him what he thinks of the General. 

Sup. Why touching this alleged personal affront, my 
friends, I must in candor, plead my ignorance — ignorantia de- 
licti. 



Scene 3.) whigs and democrats. 65 

Slang. Let's have it in English, Mr. Supine. We are no 
schollards. 

Sup. I beg pardon. I forgot that all were not fortunate 
enough to have their understandings tinctured with scholar- 
ship. Well then, I must frankly confess, I do not admire the 
General's politics. 

Bangall. Who do you vole for?' 

Sup. I yhall cast my suffrage on Mr. Manly. 

RowDiE. Major, must we vote for Mr, Manly ? I thought 
you said he was a federal whig. 

Slang. And a Bank-tariffer, to boot 1 

Bangall. And an abolitioner also? 

Round. Hold, friends ! I believe, on reflection, it would 
be the wisest course, to vote not at all. In that way we stick 
to principle. 

Omnes. Aye, lets us stick to principle. 

Round. In the mean time we'll go down to the spring, 
and take a good pull together. It will brighten our ideas. 

Bangall. Aye, let us take a pull — and a long pull 

Slang. And a strong pull-^^ 

RowDiE. And a pull all-together. {Exeunt all but Supine.) 

Sup. {solus.) A practical commentary this on the freedom 
of elections ! This is that divine vox populi, which we read 
and hear of! We are certainly the most free and enlightened 
nation under the sun. {Enter Cato.) Well, blackey, who 
may you happen to be ? 

Cato. I is Cato, sir — at your service. 

Sup. Cato ! then I presume you are something of a 



66 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3. 

classic, — and being of the African physiognomy, peradventure 
you may have descended from the great Cato of Utica. 

Cato. My daddy's name, sir, was Solomon, — and both of 
us was born in the family of the Fair weathers. We belong 
to the old school, sir, — none of your upstart folks. 

Sup. Upon my conscience, I believe you are something of 
a Solomon yourself, — an Ethiopian sui generis. Where is 
your master ? 

Cato. He's been walking about the woods with Mass 
Henry, and looks as mad as a hornet. 

Sup. Here he comes now — and alone. 

Cato. Well then I blieve I'll go and have a little conver- 
sation with Miss Jinny. {Exit.) 

Enler Fairioeather. 

Fair. The boy is perfectly inflexible. I thought that my 
plans had been laid with wisdom, when lo ! they are suddenly 
blasted by his headstrong folly. Mr. Supine, your most obedient, 
I presume that the voters are fast assenfibling at the polls ! 

Sup. Many are now at the spring — the usual place of 
rendezvous. It is there. General, that much of the patriotism 
of this precinct is annually inspired. A squad, under the Major's 
command, left this but a minute since, to offer a copious liba- 
tion at the fountain — and, I must frankly inform you, in a con- 
dition of mind very destructive to your prospects. 

Fair. How ! — what ! — Explain, my dear sir ; — you do not 
mean the democracy ? 

Sup. I speak of your own political family. Your quon- 



Scene 3.) whigs and democrats. 67 

dam friend, Major Roundtree, is now as bitter an enemy as you 
could possibly desire. Tempora mutantur^ &c. — you know, sir. 

Fair, Confusion ! — %vhy I shall lose my election, and that 
will ruin all my political prospects. 

Sup. Perhaps, General, to be rejected by the people, will 
be the surest road to Executive favor. 

Fair. Not in my case. I stand sponsor for the district, and 
if I fail I shall lose my reputation for sagacity. My dear Mr. 
Supine, can't you act as mediator % Assure the Major that I 
meant no political offence whatever, and, that as to the little 
personal matter between us, I spoke in a passion, and believe 
that I was somewhat in the wrong-. Tell him I have the high- 
est respect for him, and that private considerations ought never 
to weigh against the public good. Do, my dear sir, go and 
see the Major this instant. 

Sup, He is firm as a rock, sir — bitter as gall — and will car- 
ry the whole democratic hive with him. You have touched 
him. General, on a chord nearest to his heart. Punctum ienerum. 

Fair. I am aware of it. I was wrong. Do you know 
his daughter, Mr. Supine 1 

Supine. She was my pupil — a beautiful young woman — 
gentle, — accomplished — and worthy of a prince. Here she 
comes this instant, attended by Mr. Worthington and daughter. 
They have just alighted from the carriage. 

Enter Worthington, Clara, and Catharine. 

Worth. My dear General, I am happy to see you.. Allow 



68 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3. 

me to make you acquainted with my daughter, and with Miss 
Roundtree. ( Theij salute.) 

Fair. Worthington, I am rejoiced to see j^ou, and especially 
at the present conjuncture. You are fortunate to have in charge 
two such lovely samples of their sex. If Mr. Supine will con- 
duct the ladies into the house, I will avail myself of this mo- 
ment to confer with you privately on a matter of much impor- 
tance. 

Worth. With all my heart. 

Sup. And with all my heart, sir, will I manifest my gal- 
lantry on this occasion. [Conducts the ladies into the house.) 

Fair. I ask your counsel as a personal friend — not as a po- 
litical adversary. By some imprudence, I fear I have involved 
myself in difficulty. I had fixed my heart, Worthington, upon 
your lovely daughter as a suitable companion for my son — but 
he, it seems, M'ithout my knowledge or consent, has pledged 
his affections to Miss Roundtree. In an evil moment, when I 
made the discovery, I deeply offended the young lady's father, 
and in consequence thereof he is suddenly converted from a 
warm political friend into a bitter personal enemy. His great 
influence in this precinct, will probably turn the scale against 
me, and I shall not only lose my son, but I fear my election too. 
What shall be done ? 

Worth. You appeal to my private friendship and candor, 
and I answer you frankly. Your path is plain Withdraw your 
opposition to your son's free choice. He cannot marry my 
daughter because she is sacredly betrothed, with my consent, 
tO' another. Your son is also bound to another by every obli- 
gation of faith and honor, and let me assure you (this little mat- 



Scene 3.) WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. 69 

ter of family feeling aside) he could not have given his heart 
to one more lovely and deserving. Adopt this course, and the 
Major will be easily reconciled. 

Fair, [fxfler a pause.) I believe your counsel is wise. It is a 
struggle, — but I yield. 

Worth. That is generous and noble. I go this moment, 
and vfill return with Major Roundtree. He is fortunately 
walking this way. {Exit.) 

Fair, (solus.) Bitter enough ! — but even wormwood is 
sometinies good for the health. It is not pleasant to relinquish 
the prospect of a splendid family alliance, nor is it very agreea- 
ble to anticipate Mr. and Mrs. Roundtree as the father and mo- 
ther-in-law of Henry Fairweather. On the other hand, the 
girl herself is a fair scion from rather a scrubby stock, and if, 
in addition, I can secure my re-election and all its advantages — 
why I believe upon the whole the consolations will be nearly 
equal to the disquietudes. 

Re-enter Worthington with Roundtree. 

Fair. Major — Mr. Worthington has told you all, and whilst 
I offer you my hand, I sincerely apologise for my rudeness. I 
have inquired more minutely into the matters which betrayed 
me into temporary excitement, and am not only convinced of 
my error, but take pleasure in assuring you that I shall entirely 
acquiesce in the choice of my son's affections. 

Round. Well now, General, that is arguing like a man, and 
I give you the right hand of fellowship. I thought you were 
too good a republican to take such high ground about the dif- 



TO WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3. 

ference between one honest man's son, and another honest 
man's daughter, — and, although I admit that my dander was 
confoundedly up, yet when one is willing to confess one's er- 
rors, why there ought to be an end of it. 

Fair. And I hope, Major, if the unfortunate impression 
made upon your mind against me, has produced any influence 
upon others, you will do me the justice to restore matters to 
their usual good footing as speedily as possible. 

Round. Aye, let me alone for that. There may have 
been some little misunderstanding to be sure, but I'll put mat- 
ters to rights in a twinkling. I'll go and explain every thing 
to the democracy in a few minutes. If I say I have been mis- 
taken — they'll believe it, — for, although I may be often de- 
ceived myself, I make it a rule. General, never to deceive other 
people — if I can possibly help it. 

Fair. An excellent rule. But, Major, as time is rapidly 
passing, perhaps the sooner erroneous views are corrected the 
better. 

Round. Exactly so. Here are the boys coming up to the 
polls now. I'll go and meet them, and have a little brisk con- 
versation on the subject. {Exit.) 

Worth. You have not only adopted the best and wisest 
policy, — ^you have done more, — ^you have discharged the obli- 
gations of duty. 

Fair. I believe you are right. Your moral perceptions, 
Worthington, are more acute than mine. I'hey were always 
so. 



Scene 3.) WHIGS and DEMOCRATS. 71 



Enter Supine from the house. 

Sup. Your fair daughter, Mr. Worthington, desires to see 
you when perfectly convenient. You are happy, no doubt, sir, 
in having such a daughter. 

Worth. Very well contented, sir. She is very dutiful. 

Sup. And you might add, sir, without exaggeration, very 
beautiful. Nor must you forget that the co-operation of art 
was necessary to produce so fair a creation. My own share 
in her early instruction has, I trust, been crowned with its due 
proportion of benefit. 

Worth. For which, Mr. Supine, you have long since re- 
ceived my acknowledgments. Before I obey my daughter's 
summons. General, I have another duty to perform,— in order, 
if possible, to counteract one of the results which might follow 
the little service I have rendered you to-day. I must rally our 
whig strength, and dispute your claims to victory. 

Fair. A perfectly fair and legitimate effort ; and, if I am 
beaten in the contest, it will be some consolation that young 
Manly's success will be particularly gratifying to you. 

Worth. Now then for an open field, and a fair fight. 
{Exit.) 

Fair. I will myself seek the melancholy Mr. Henry, and 
apprise him of the sudden change in the aspect of his fortune. 
{Exit.) 

Re-enter Roiindfree, ivith Slang, Bangall, Rowdie, Chipps and 
others. 

Round. I tell you I was altogether mistaken ! and when 



72 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3. 

a man finds out that he is in the wrong, its his duty hon- 
estly to confess it. 

Slang. Did'nt you say that he smelt like an aristocrat? 

RowDiE. And that he had a hungry appetite after loaves 
and fishes ? 

Bang. And that his mouth watered after an ambassy ? 

Round. Yes, yes — all that is so; but don't we know 
that some things appear true, which afterwards turn c<ut to be 
false ? Don't you recollect, Rowdie, when that crafty old whig, 
Thornberry, charged you with making too free a use of his 
sheep, — and that some of the neighbors actually believed the 
report, until you proved to a dead certainty that the rogue was 
no other than Robm Hedgeman's dog ? 

Chipps. Aye, and some of the neighbors are wicked 
enough to believe the story to this day. 

RowDiE. Hold your tongue, Jemmy — it was nothing but 
a whig lie. 

Round. You see, then, how easy a thing it is for an inno- 
cent man to be accused falsely. I thought, for a moment, that 
the General wavered in the democratic faith, — but I am now 
perfectly convinced that he's as good a republican as ever trod 
shoe leather. 

Bangall. HuiTa for the Gineral ! 

Slang. Major Roundtree says he's a good democrat. 

RowDiE. Gineral Fairweather forever ! 

Round. Lets go then, boys, around to the other end of the 
house, and give in our votes for the General. 

Omnes. Hurra ! hurra I {Exeunt all hut Supine.) 



Scene 4.) wiiigs and democrats, 73 

Supine, {solus.) 

This is democracy wilh a vengeance ! The Major is very 
kind to them in one respect however — he saves them the 
trouble of thinking. For, to one who Uke myself has had sad 
experience in intellectual toil — in other words, the opus cogi- 
tantis, — it is no Utile refreshment to be occasionally relieved 
from it. I'll go and carry one vote to the polls at all events, 
but in bestowing it I shall consult the general ivel/are, rather 
than the welfare of the General. {Exit.) 



SCENE IV. 
Catharine's parlor. 

Clara and Catharine seated. 

Cath. It has come to pass then, Clara, as I predicted. 
Place yourself in my situation, and you would resolve, as I 
do, not to be the cause of family dissention. 

Clara. These prejudices are strong, but sometimes more 
violent than lasting. 

Cath. But, even if finally overcome, the thought that 
they once existed would be to me most painful. 

Clara. Your feelings are too acute, Catharine. You 
must make some allowance for human infirmity, the force of 
education, and different habits of thinking. 

Cath. And it seems, too, that the General and my father 
have had an angry quarrel — and all on my account. Mr. Su* 
7 



74 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3. 

pine .=a_ys it will insure Mr. Manly's election. Do you know 
Mr. xVIanly ? 

Clara. I ought to know him, Catharine, — but men are 
not easily deciphered. He has been our frequent visitor in 
the last twelve months, and from his own confessions would 
not give a feather to be elected, except to advance the cause 
which he has espoused. Indeed I almost dread to hear of his 
success. 

Cath. Why so, Miss Clara ? Why should Mr. Manly's 
triumph or defeat interest you particularly^ ? 

Clara. Indeed I do not know exactl}^, — but I, at ano- 
ther time I will tell you. \_J\''oise ivithout^ 

Cath. What a tumult out of doors ! I suppose by this 
time the election is over. 

Clara. Quite likely, — but here comes one who will tell 
us all about it. 

Enter Worthington. 

Worth. I have most agreeable news for you both. 

Clara and Cath. (rising.) What can it be 1 

Worth. That General Fairweather will certainly be 
elected to Congress. You will be pleased, Clara, because if I 
mistake not I have heard you so declare, — and you^ Miss Cath- 
arine, will have reason to be delighted, not only because he is 
your father's friend, but because it may probably occasion you 
a winter's visit to Washington. 

Cath. Indeed, sir, I cannot understand how the General's 
election can possibly produce that consequence; and as to his 



Scene 4.) whigs and de3I0CRATS. 75 

friendship for my father, that I understand has been suddenly 
turned into hate. 

Worth. And as suddenly again turned from hate into 
friendship. 

Cath. You astonish me ! \_Shouts toithout.'] 

Worth. Hear those shouts which are wafting the victor 
to the skies ! Your father has touched the key which pro- 
duces that music, so grateful to political aspirants. To keep 
you no longer in suspense, the General and Major are perfectly 
reconciled ; and I am, moreover, authorised to say, that their 
friendship will be hereafter cemented by a strict matrimonial 
league between the families. 

[Catharine hangs her head in corifusion.) 

Clara. I told you, Catharine, that prejudice would not 
last forever. 

Cath. You did, Clara, indeed. But this is so sudden a 
change, that were it not reported on such good authority, I 
could not credit it. 

Enter Mrs. Roundtree. 

Mrs. Round. Kate, my dear, have you heard the good 
news? Your father and the Gineral arc two of the best 
friends now in the world. Did'nt I tell you that if the Gineral 
could only get a peep at your face, he'd be pacified in a mo- 
ment? 

Cath. He saw me only for a moment, madam. 

Worth. I verily believe, Miss Catharine, that single mo- 
ment had its effect. 



76 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3. 

Clara. Oh certainly it had its effect. Did he not make a 
brief, but complimentary speech to us both ? 

Cath. I must still think that sudden changes of opinion 
are wrought by more efficient means. 

Clara. For my part, if things are brought about precisely 
to my taste, I shall never inquire into the why's and where- 
fore's. I'll take good care of the effects, and let the causes 
take care of themselves. 

Enter Supine. 

Sup. Ladies, your humble servant. I congratulate you 
that this noisy election is over, and that the sovereign people 
are in a state of rapid dispersion. 

Worth. What is the true state of the poll, Mr. Supine ? 

Sup. The General is some thirty votes ahead in the pre- 
cinct, and his particular friends say, ergo, he is elected. My 
own opinion is, however, that the conclusion is a non seguiiur. 

Enter Chipps. 

Chipps. Well, Miss Kate, we've all done to-day exactly 
what your father told us. 

Cath. And what is that, Mr. Chipps 1 

Chipps. Why he told all us democrats, for along time past, 
that Gin'ral Fairweather was a good honest republican ; then 
he told us again to-day that he was a federal whig aristocrat ; 
and, as we believed him before, we were obliged to believe him 
a second time. Well, then, he told us a third time, that he 
was entirely mistaken the second time — but was exactly right 
the first time ; so that as twice thinking right is better than 
once thinking wrong, we all concluded that the Major was 



Scene 4.) whigs and democrats. 77 

right the first and last time, and wrong the second. So we 
all throw'd up our hats and voted for the Gin'ral. 

Sup. Jemmy, you are a very profound logician — and I 
think when the General gets to Congress, he ought, if possi- 
ble, to procure you a professor's chair. 

Chipps. Thank you, sir. If any body knows my capa- 
city, it ought to be my teacher. 

Enter Major Roundtree. 

Round. Hurra for old Virginy and General Fairweather ! 
Well — I can tell you what now, squire Worthington — the 
way in which we have laid Whiggery low to-day, is a caution. 
We have broug.ht up the General to the front rank, — and, un- 
less there's desertion in some of the other squads, we've won 
the battle, as sure as I am Major of the second battalion. 

Worth. Very likely. Major — but my consolation is, that 
the cause of truth and justice is not more frequently decided 
rightfully at the polls than in the battle-field. In the one case, 
reason has to contend with the powerful antagonists of igno- 
rance, prejudice and passion, — whilst in the other, personal 
prowess, and superior skill in the use of steel and ball, are 
more available than the goodness of the cause. 

Sup. In other words, the whole art of electioneering is 
conducted upon the principle of ad captandum vulgus. 

Enter Cato. 

Cato. Ladies and gen'men, my master, General Fair- 
weather, desire me to say that he and Mass Henry will pay 
their respects to you very soon, but an express has just come 



78 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS, (Act 3. 

which bring intelligence about the election, and he's now look- 
ing over the contents. 

Round. Aye, that is news from the other parts of the dis- 
trict. A gold eagle to a shin plaisler that the General has got 
the day. Kate, my dear, you shall be the happiest girl alive. 

Cath. Indeed, sir, the issue of the election, whatever that 
may be, will give me but little concern. 

Round. Aye, aye — I suppose your thoughts are somewhat 
turned in another direction. 

Jenmj enters, and whispers to Mrs. Roundtree, who takes Catha- 
rine out. 

Cato. Mass Roundtree, if so be, you entertains no objec- 
tion to it, I would like to speak a little word to you in private. 
{They come to the front, apart from the rest.) 

Round. What have you to say ? 

Cato. I have had a hint, sir, that my young Mass Henry 
is likely to make a match with 3 oung Misses, your daughter. 

Round. Well, sir, what of that % 

Cato. I was thinking, sir, if so be it was agreeable, you'd 
have no objection to another member of the family besides 
Mass Henry. 

Round. What do you mean, sir ? 

Cato. Why, sir, I's been talking the matter over with 
Miss Jinny, and I think we should like to make a match of it 
too. 

Round. Odds bother it ! we are likely to have a merry 
making of it, sure enough. Well, sir, at another time we will 



Scene 4.) WHIGS and democrats. 79 

think of the matter. For the present stand aside, as I see the 
General coming in. {Ca(o goes to the back ground.) 

Enter General Fairweather — Henrxj leading in Catharine^ and 
J\Irs. Roundtree following. 

Fair. My friends — I am pleased to see you all assembled 
here. I have just placed the hand of this fair girl into that of 
m}^ son Avith their mutual consent, and have bestowed upon 
them a father's preliminary blessmg — to be followed speedily, 
I hope, by one of a more sacred character. I have done this 
with the conviction, sudden I acknowledge, but not less sin- 
cere on that account, that their happiness will be secured, and 
my own greatly promoted by their vinion ; and I maj^ add, if a 
little selfishness be allowed to mingle with the pleasures of 
anticipation, that I shall hereafter have much need for their 
society. / have received undoubted intelligence that the public voice 
has consigned me this day to private life. 

Round. What, General, not turned out ? Impossible ! 

Fair. It is true. The returns of course are not complete, 
but I learn enough to convince me, that by one of those sin- 
gular reactions which take place in popular feeling, I am left 
at home by many hundred majority. 

Sup. a pretty exact fulfilment. General, of my own pro- 
phecy. 

Chipps. I'll be dog'd if ever I hearn the like of it. Major, 
I wish I had bet the shin plaister agin your gold eagle. 

Round. I confess I am confoundedly bothered! Some 
treason in the camp. 



80 WHIGS AND DEMOCRATS. (Act 3. 

Worth. Well, Clara, what think you of this sudden 
turn ? I presume that now, you have no objection to acknow- 
ledge, that as Mr. Manly, the successful candidate, is the se- 
lected partner of your future destiny, you may be willing 
yourself to figure a winter or two in the circles of our repub- 
lican court. 

Clara, Indeed, sir, I do not know exactly what to think 
of that matter. I will patiently wait until I receive the invi- 
tation. 

Cati-i. Dear Clara, is it possible that Mr. Manly is the 
favored man ? 

Clara. Many things are possible Catharine ! 

Fair. I have read a lesson in this day's history, which I 
hope will not be lost. I have learned that to pursue the phan- 
tom of popular favor, regardless of right or wrong — to flatter 
the passions and follies of the multitude, with no better motive 
than our own advancement — is not only demoralising to them, 
but must, sooner or later, plant a thorn in our own bosoms to unfit 
us for the duties as well as for the happiness of life. Hence- 
forth, then, I abjure all idol worship, and renounce all ambitious 
aspirations. I shall content myself with the purer enjoyment 
of domestic peace, and shall endeavor to practice those various 
duties which are enjoined of a social, moral and created being. 

Sup, Consilium admirabile ! 



FINIS. 



